


Bound and Shagged

by mundungus42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Genderswap, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Sex Magic, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-07
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:37:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mundungus42/pseuds/mundungus42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the eve of a Big Birthday, Lucius is painfully aware of all that's missing from his life and exactly how much scheming will be required to obtain it. SS/HG, SS/HG/LM. Very rude content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

what breaks me, young friend, is tasteless desire, dead iambics, boring dinners

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

A wizard's fiftieth year was widely believed to be the first of his prime, and for this reason Lucius Malfoy was determined to celebrate it as many times as his immodesty allowed. Given the quality of the food and drink at these birthday celebrations, the lavish favours bestowed upon his guests, and the impeccable hospitality with which they were received, nobody found it necessary to remember exactly how many of Lucius's fiftieth birthday parties they had attended.

Lucius was rapidly approaching his tenth fiftieth birthday, and as pleased as he was to find the pile of acceptances growing by the day, he felt that there something not quite right. This was puzzling, given that he'd already finalised the menu, chosen appropriate wines for every course, decided on a theme ("Malecrit's Delight"), incorporated it into tasteful floral arrangements and decorations, bespoke Couplet Chocolates, which produced rude rhymes in the French style, from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, arranged the entertainment, and hired a tastefully avant garde string ensemble to play while the guests mingled. What else was there?

It wasn't until his pre-birthday review of the décor in his numerous guest bedrooms that it struck him. Over the past decade, his sole splurge had been throwing the party of the year. He had not once treated himself to a birthday celebration that wasn't conceived solely to make an impression on others.

His second fiftieth had been a deliberately gay affair (the theme had been "Bubbles"), with champagne-coloured everything and an excellent bottle for each guest. It had been as close to a two-fingered salute to his ex-wife, who claimed that champagne gave her a headache, as he could tastefully give. His third, fourth, fifth, and sixth fiftieths had been designed with intrigue in mind, starting with a thoroughly unsubtle "Seraglio" theme and ending with an "Enchanted Encounters" masquerade that could have proved disastrous without the extremely powerful Confundus Charm that he'd cast on the Daily Prophet society reporter. Seven ("Mermaid's Grotto"), eight (the slightly ironic "Phoenix Arisen"), and nine ("Sonnets of a Sorcerer") had been enjoyable, but nothing to compare to his very first fiftieth, for which he and Narcissa had devised a tidy piece of Charm-work that allowed the guests to disguise themselves as they chose.

Of course, that had been the evening that Narcissa had fallen in love with the man for whom she had forsaken her marriage vows and eventually abandoned them altogether - an experience that Lucius was not keen to repeat. Of course, this time around, he was neither married nor seriously attached, and his ex-wife and Potter were decidedly Not Invited. And while his fiftieth birthday parties could hardly be said to be suffering from diminishing returns, he felt instinctively that the tenth should include something special, apart from being the party of the year. He stroked his chin with the tip of his quill and considered the question of what to give the man who has everything.

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

i admire, i gaze at you; hermione herself, as like her

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

The next day found him rapping his knuckles on an extremely dingy door outside an even dingier-looking antiquarian bookshop that had once been the rectory for some long-gone place of worship. After his fourth course of rapping, the tarnished brass spyhole slid open with a loud squeal. After the eye on the far side of the glass had taken in his fourth-most-impressive day robe, the hole squeaked shut once more and myriad locking mechanisms clicked open in unison.

The door opened to reveal an extraordinarily handsome young man with copious chestnut curls and hazel eyes. He ushered Lucius into a comfortably furnished room that looked more like a private reading room than a place of business. Then again, given that the proprietress was notorious for taking only what jobs her fancy favoured, perhaps that's exactly what it was.

"My apologies for keeping you waiting," the lovely lad was saying with sincerity that would have put Lucius's to shame, if he had any shame, that is, were he to have any). "Ms Granger required my assistance with a particularly delicate Byzantine text."

"I hope that my manuscript will seem simple by comparison," said Lucius, wondering where on earth the woman had found the lad and if she paid him well enough to make stealing him problematic.

To Lucius's delight, the young Apollo dimpled prettily at him; if he had not appreciated the wordplay, he at least acknowledged that something witty had been said. "She won't be long," he said conspiratorially. "She's in the middle of a page, that's all."

Lucius allowed an indolent smirk to unfurl across his face as he ran a finger between the raised eyes of his cane's snake head. "What ever shall we do with ourselves in the meantime?"

The Apollo blinked, the moment of hesitation Lucius had been waiting for.

He seated himself gracefully in an armchair by the window, having noticed the sun pouring in at the perfect angle for turning his pale golden hair to platinum.

The young man swallowed hard, and Lucius sighed inwardly. Despite his natural talent, he was still an amateur.

"Tea," he stammered. "We have tea. Very fine tea, if you're interested?"

"Thank you," said Lucius in patrician tones that firmly re-established the aristocrat/domestic relationship. "Unless you have something a little stronger?"

"Well, Ms Granger has some sherry, and the place next door has some fantastic ale-"

"My dear young man," said Lucius condescendingly, "the Trappist monks of Westvleteren brew a quadruple that can be described as 'fantastic.' I am sceptical of your claim that the place next door does the same. As such, I shall have tea."

The young man fled gratefully from the room and Lucius took the moment to appreciate his posterior attributes. With a few months of proper instruction to rein in his puppy-like enthusiasm, the young man could go far. He was considering making the lad an offer when his employer opened the door to her office and stood before him, backlit by a happily placed stained glass window.

She might have stepped out of a piece by Alphonse Mucha for the way her diaphanous robes billowed about her, gathered softly against her ribcage by a coral-coloured cord. Her infamous bushy hair was in fine form, barely contained by a pair of flower-bedecked Alice bands, which might have been tasked with holding back the tide for all the success they were having. Yet despite the outlandish costume and her curves, which were a trifle too lush for current fashion, Lucius had to shift subtly to prevent her from noticing his body's natural reaction to the stunning portrait of femininity she presented. Even her wild hair practically begged to be tamed by gentle fingers.

He raised an eyebrow quizzically. "My apologies, Ms Granger," he said. "If I'd known this meeting was to be fancy dress, I'd have worn a more appropriate costume."

The clean rosiness of her complexion was somewhat marred by an impatient scowl. "My escort will be here in twenty minutes." She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "Nineteen minutes," she corrected herself. "State your case in as few words as needed. I'll let you know via owl tomorrow if you interest me sufficiently."

Lucius had a moment of cognitive dissonance attempting to put Hermione Granger and "escort" in the same sentence before realising that he'd requested a meeting with her on the day of the annual Weasley-Brown anniversary party, which had become something of a society event because the Weasley-Browns invariably ended up in a screaming match before its end. Even some members of his own set were reported to have attended ironically several years running.

He allowed her to wave him into her office and sat in the heavy oak chair opposite her desk, which was strewn with parchment, quills, numerous tools, jewel-toned inks, an old-fashioned blotter, and a large, ancient-looking tome under a stasis spell. To his disappointment, the book's pages were obscured by a privacy charm.

"Your charming assistant mentioned you were working on a Byzantine project," he said, giving her a smile he hoped was not too obviously ingratiating.

"Yes," she said shortly, crossing her arms.

Lucius turned up the charm. "Really, Ms Granger, Hermione. May I call you Hermione?"

"No."

There was nothing for it. Lucius liked to conserve his most devastating smile for moments of intimacy, but it had to be done. "Ms Granger," he said warmly, just short of smarmy, "I know we've had our differences in the past-"

"Differences?" she said, her eyes veritably crackling with fire. "I can't think of a single meeting with you that hasn't involved you or your cohorts attempting to torture, kill, blackmail, or insult me."

"You make it sound so personal."

"Not at all. I'm sure you'd do the same for anyone of Muggle descent who had the temerity to forget her place."

This was not going well. "Really, Ms Granger," he said, with an attempt at levity, "one wonders why you agreed to see me at all."

"I agreed to see you for two reasons," she said coldly. "One, I plan to donate the exorbitant amount of money I will be extracting from you to non-profit groups that support Muggle-born and Squib education. Two, yours is one of the few private libraries in Britain that might possibly hold objects of interest to me. Now, state your business and then leave my establishment."

Lucius could see that charm was having no effect and shifted seamlessly to business mode. "Very well," he said, withdrawing a Shrunk folio from his pocket. "I am in possession of a fragmentary work," he said. "I wish you to verify its authenticity and provide me with a new translation."

The narrowing of Hermione's eyes could not dim the spark of interest he saw there. "That'll cost you, especially if the piece is old."

"The original work dates from the seventh century BC, though of course these fragments are far more contemporary, no earlier than first century BC. The work was quite popular in antiquity, but it seems that Aeolian Greek fell out of fashion during the Roman era, and the work was lost, until it was recovered by an enterprising friend of mine."

Lucius was gratified to see her pupils dilate slightly, though she demonstrated considerable control of her breathing and maintained her scornful expression. "If I had a Galleon for every Roman era translation of a lost work in ancient Greek I've had to examine- ah, but wait, I have. Do you have any documentation of its provenance?"

"I know only the dear friend who gave it to me," he said. "It was a birthday present from him some nine years ago."

"Your sixtieth?" she asked acidly.

Lucius started. The woman was attempting to provoke him. She would have to be much more irritating to bring about that eventuality. "Really, Hermione," he returned, using the most suggestive voice he possessed, "Sixty-nine?"

The innuendo, as blunt as her insult, had the intended effect, and the mulish set of her jaw relaxed slightly. Her pretty assistant chose this moment to enter with the tea things, which he set down on the corner of the desk furthest from her current project. Hermione nodded her thanks, and Lucius wondered whether the blooming roses in her cheeks were due to the young man's presence or his unsubtle flirtation.

"Thank you, Jason," she said in a brisk voice that disappointed Lucius considerably. It would have been far easier to secure her cooperation if she'd had some interest in the lad beyond mentoring him. He would have also had a good angle to persuade the boy to work for him as well, but alas, it was not to be. Lucius took some solace in the fact that the lad was not completely immune to his masculine wiles, in spite of his employer's hostility.

When Jason - what an ugly, common sort of name for such an elegant specimen! - had closed the door behind him, Hermione returned to business as if no diversion had occurred.

"I'm afraid friendship doesn't count for much in antiquarian circles," she said with ill grace. "Can you tell me anything about the manuscript that might be of use? I'm going to have to run enough tests as it is."

"It may come as a surprise to you that as the owner of more first edition titles than the Hogwarts Library, I know a thing or two about books," he said, with a touch of superiority - it wouldn't do to forget who was hiring whom, at least for the present. "I know the obvious forgers' tricks, and several of the subtle ones as well."

Hermione sighed and spread her arms to clear the centre of her desk of the bookbinder's paraphernalia. "All right, Malfoy," she said disapprovingly. "Show me."

Lucius laid the book on the newly-cleared space and wordlessly enlarged it to its natural size. He motioned for her to begin her examination- a gesture of trust, given the volume's obvious age.

He was gratified to see her stroke the cover of the book respectfully before slowly opening it. Her touch was so gentle that the stiff leather binding gave only the slightest groan when she opened it.

She glanced at the flyleaf for long enough to determine that it was far more contemporary than the text and turned the page with exquisite care, revealing fragments of papyrus painstakingly mounted on the pages with intricate Charm work.

Her eyes widened, and Lucius just managed to suppress a smile of satisfaction in favour of an expression of polite interest.

Hermione opened a drawer of her desk and pulled out a large brass magnifying glass mounted on a hinged arm. She pushed the glass an inch or three over the text and stared into it, tossing a fallen curl irritably over her shoulder. After a moment, she pushed away the glass and leaned forward over the book. At first Lucius thought she was trying to examine it with her bare eyes, when her lids fluttered shut and she inhaled deeply.

She turned a few more pages and inhaled again, lips pursed in concentration.

Lucius stared at her for a moment before speaking. "If you have mislaid your wand, I should be pleased to perform the authenticity spells for you."

Hermione didn't open her eyes. "Spells can only determine chemical composition, which is something that I'm sure you know can be faked by unscrupulous dealers with potions. Fortunately, all of them leave traces that can be identified by nonmagical means."

Lucius studiously ignored the edge of a rosy nipple that was nearly spilling out of her bodice's deep vee. If Hermione hadn't been a Gryffindor, he might have suspected her of doing it on purpose. At last, she sat back in her seat, her eyes focused on the text. Her face was still as marble until she blinked and returned to herself.

"If this is genuine, this will set the antiquarian world on fire."

Lucius allowed himself a smirk. "I had gathered as much. That's why I brought this project to you."

"Obviously," she said, brushing off the implied compliment to her professionalism and discretion. "My initial assessment is that if it's a forgery, it's the best I've ever seen. The brush strokes, at least in this part, are not only consistent with the Roman era, they're also virtually indistinguishable from those of a particular scribe whose work has been found in Oxyrhyncus, whose ancient rubbish dumps have given us more lost works than what remains of the Library of Alexandria."

"You're unable to determine its authenticity?"

"Oh, no," she said. "I still have a battery of magichemical analyses to perform, which will take some time."

"But it passed the smell test?" asked Lucius, with a sardonic twist to his lip.

"It gave off neither the telltale eucalyptus scent of the potion most frequently used to yellow papyrus nor the sulphur smell of contemporary ink made using ancient methods," she said testily.

"I'm delighted to hear it," he said, with just a touch of obsequiousness.

Before she could answer, there was a knock at the door. "Excuse me, Hermione," said Jason, "Minister Shacklebolt is here."

"Thank you, Jason. I won't be a moment. Would you be a darling and fetch my cloak? I think it's in the cupboard.

Lucius was surprised to find her regarding him with a critical eye instead of throwing him out. Time to find out what her game was.

"Don't let me keep you, Ms Granger," he said.

"No chance of that," she said, matching the flippancy of his tone, "even if my presence wasn't mandatory."

"Given your costume, which, if I may be so bold, looks positively ravishing, I can't imagine anyone thinking you were less than delighted to be there."

"I don't know what you mean," she said, her tone implying just the opposite. "Ginny and I are old friends and on excellent terms."

"The Brown woman, then," said Lucius knowingly. "I ought to have guessed. I never knew a woman named for a flower who wasn't a shrew."

"Lavender isn't a shrew," said Hermione hotly. "She's a leech. But a hybrid leech with springy legs for jumping into bed with whatever famous person is lonely enough to succumb to her dubious charms. Ever since Harry left Ginny for that old-" Suddenly, she seemed to remember to whom she was speaking. "But this is neither here nor there, Mr. Malfoy," she continued, with admirable poise. "What concerns me is this project."

"How so?"

"I have worked on some fairly high-profile projects, but nothing like this. And I am not oblivious to the fact that I have made the occasional error pinpointing the date of some texts."

"You do yourself an injustice, Ms Granger."

"Oh, no," she said. "My own injustice to myself is the least of my worries."

"I haven't the pleasure of understanding you."

"Let's say I accept your project. If the whole thing turns out to be a fraud, then I will end up looking ridiculous. You admit that you know many of the forgers' tricks. You could have made a fake manuscript and depended on my alleged greed and desire for fame to prevent me from looking too closely."

"Why would I do such a thing?"

"Why do Death Eaters bait Muggles? I wasn't aware any particular reason was needed."

It took all of Lucius's resolve to tamp down the bolt of white-hot anger that shot through him. "I would expect that sort of comment from Mr. Potter's ilk," he said coldly.

She had the good grace to look abashed, but she didn't back down. "Given your past associations, you can hardly blame me for questioning your motives."

"Ms Granger, I won't insult your intelligence by attempting to reassure you of my motives, because even if I opened my mind to you, you would find some reason to doubt me. What I can offer you by way of reassurance is a contract explicitly stating that the work is intended solely for my private use and that your name will not be attached to it unless you see fit to claim it."

Hermione considered this for a moment before producing a business card from a drawer in her desk. "Send the contract to my solicitor. I will keep the manuscript until I've determined its authenticity to the best of my ability."

"How much time will you need?"

"A week," she said. "Maybe two." She gave him a wry smile that suited her features. "If it's authentic, I'll send you an exorbitant estimate for producing a new translation for you."

"And if it's not authentic?"

A dimple appeared in her cheek. "Then a slightly less exorbitant invoice will arrive."

The shortness of her tone was so at odds with the sweetness of her expression and demeanour that Lucius couldn't help smiling. "Very well," he said, rising. "Thank you for your time, Ms Granger."

She appeared to be contemplating a sharp retort, but thought better of it. "Mister Malfoy?" The slight quaver in her voice revealed how badly she wanted an answer. "Where on earth did your friend acquire this manuscript?"

"I couldn't say," he said, "but he works at a tiny private library in West Flanders that nobody's ever heard of," he said dismissively. "Good evening, Ms Granger."

He saw her start to raise her hand to forestall him, but she returned it to her side. Lucius smiled as he strode from her office, especially because it was certain to unnerve Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was chatting amiably with Jason in the receiving room. Hermione may have retained her dignity, but she was clearly left wanting. Lucius felt it was a state that would do her some good.

__

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

truth is born as lightning strikes

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

The Abbey of St. Sixtus was bottling the Extra 8 the day that Severus Snape received the invitation to Lucius's tenth fiftieth birthday party in the post. He allowed himself a moment of wry amusement before Vanishing it. Fortunately, between their brotherhood's discouragement of idle chatter and the day's heavy work, no one was likely to comment on anything other than bottling.

Severus's job was to inspect the freshly sealed and labelled bottles from the line and, if they passed muster, place them in a crate. When the crate was filled, he handed it to Brother Herbert, who stacked the crates on a wooden pallet, and then called Brothers Eustace and Pieter, who wrapped the pallet in cling film and carted it into warm storage, where the ale would age and undergo secondary fermentation.

Bottles with ruined labels, dented caps, and other imperfections were put off to the side and shared among those working the bottling line when they had matured, which is why Severus, whose eyes were very keen, had been put in charge of spotting irregularities. Cistercian monks were known for their poverty and charity, but they loved good ale as much as the next man. Thus, when they were bottling anything other than the blond ale, which they drank with most meals, more brothers vied for a post on Severus's bottling shift than volunteered to sing at Vespers, which was saying something.

At exactly fifteen minutes to eleven, the bottling line ground to a halt, presumably to give the workers time to clean the bottling line and themselves before Sext, and more importantly, lunch. Severus and the others gathered the slightly irregular bottles and put them in a crate marked with their names and the date. All were glowing with perspiration and left gratefully when Severus and Pieter motioned for them to go and wash before chapel.

Pieter and Severus were wheeling the last pallet into the aging room when they spotted the abbot, Brother Bernard, approaching, brandishing a clipboard which he handed to Severus. The paper, still warm from being printed out, showed the café's inventory, and Severus noticed that they were running perilously low on the gift boxes containing three types of beer and a souvenir glass. He nodded at Bernard and gestured curtly with his head at Pieter, who followed him to the storehouse to replenish the café's supply.

Severus's nimble fingers assembled the shiny white cardboard boxes and handed them to Pieter, whose callused hands were as gentle with the glass vessels of ale as they were with the vegetables he grew in the gardens. When they had loaded sixty or so boxes, they stacked them on an empty pallet. Pieter glanced in the direction of the chapel, which reminded Severus that Pieter's strong voice was needed to lead the chanting, and he dismissed him with a wave of his hand. He was perfectly capable of delivering the pallet to the side gate, where one of the café volunteers would be waiting for him.

He re-rolled the sleeves of his habit, deftly manoeuvred the pallet lifter into place and wheeled the pallet down the covered path next to the brewery. Severus was profoundly grateful for the shady breeze, as he and Pieter had been given special dispensation to work through the morning's reading and meditation starting after breakfast, and taking a break only for Tierce. The brewery had grown progressively stuffy as the sun grew higher. He passed the dairy as the cheese makers were exiting en masse, eyes down and hands folded demurely beneath their black scapulars; they appeared every inch the devout monks, except that Severus knew it was their attempt to snub him without looking petty. Severus wheeled his load onwards, mildly amused that even among holy men cloistered far from the madding crowds, there were still cliques; the dairymen resented the fact that the café's beer supply had to be replenished daily, while the cheese was only brought over on a weekly basis.

Severus was nearing the side gate when he overheard what sounded like an argument.

"I tell you, it is not possible," said a voice he recognised as belonging to Gert, a sanctimonious pensioner who volunteered at the café three days a week. He was surprised to hear Gert speaking English, though with a very heavy accent.

"I thought that with God, all things were possible," said a brisk woman's voice. English, by the sound of it. "I simply want to spend five minutes in the library. They can send you to keep an eye on me if the sight of a woman will be too much of a temptation."

"No women who have not taken orders are allowed inside," said Gert stoutly. "If God had had the sense to keep Eve out of Eden, man never would have fallen."

"If God had kept Eve out of Eden, humanity would have died out with Adam," she retorted. "If you won't let me in, then please let me speak to the abbot."

"He will not speak with you," said Gert. "He has holier things on his mind."

"I don't suppose all the monks attend Mass do they?" she asked in an innocent voice that made Severus suspicious.

"It's not Mass," exclaimed Gert, scandalised. "The holy brothers celebrated the Eucharist while you were probably still asleep! The monks' day is structured around the seven holy offices, during which they gather to chant and praise-"

"I see," said the woman, sounding smug.

Severus sighed. In his naiveté, Gert had as well as told the woman that she was free to break into the library as soon as Tierce started. He veered his pallet lifter in a way that he knew would make the wheels squeal to announce his presence.

"Leave this place," said Gert. "We have God's work to do."

Severus nearly smiled, wondering if the English woman would consider wheeling around pallets of beer to be God's work. Fortunately, she was nowhere to be seen when Gert opened the gate to receive Severus's load.

"Thank the Lord you've come," said Gert in his native Flemish. "Another stinking tour bus showed up expecting to buy up all our crates of the Twelve. We've told them we're out, but then they started buying up all the gift boxes."

Severus, once again relieved that his order eschewed idle chatter, nodded and locked the gate firmly behind him.

The courtyard was deserted and he could hear Pieter's clear baritone ringing out to call the brothers together. On any other day he would have run to the chapel, but the English woman sounded like one used to having her way. He made a show of walking briskly toward the chapel but hid himself behind a column that she would need to pass if she intended to visit the library.

A few minutes later, he heard the telltale squeal of the side gate being opened, which was simultaneously irritating and impressive. The locks on the gates were ancient and far from invulnerable, but they required a fair amount of strength to force. His quarry's steps were light but he could still make them out, and she was headed straight for him. He felt a bit of the old thrill, one he'd not felt in over a decade, at catching someone well aware that she was breaking the rules. He arranged his features into his most forbidding scowl, an expression he'd had scant opportunity to use recently, and stepped out of his hiding place.

The woman jumped, just as hundreds of students had done before her, and gazed up into the face of the man who'd caught her. The mutual recognition was instantaneous, and Severus Snape spoke the first nonessential word he'd uttered in years.

"Bugger!"

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

our very meeting with each other is an omen

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

It had been a good many years since Hermione Granger had been rendered speechless, but finding the late Severus Snape alive, well, and catching her red-handed sneaking into a Trappist monastery was exactly the sort of thing to do it. However, the obscenity he uttered was so incongruous with his monastic habit that she had to suppress a hysterical giggle. In response, he seized her arm and all but dragged her into the nearest building.

Not keen to be discovered by any others who might be lurking about, she refrained from demanding that he release her arm, but she dug in her feet and yanked her arm out of his grip. He spun to look at her, his expression thunderstruck, but she made no move to escape him. He gave a shrug that clearly said, "Have it your way," and took off down the sunlit passage. She followed in his wake, her mind in a whirl.

Before she had the opportunity to put into words any of the numerous questions that occurred to her, he opened a wooden door and ushered her into a tiny room, sparsely furnished, with a plain wooden cross on the wall opposite the window over two narrow beds. It took her a moment to realise that this must be his cell. He pulled his wand from one of the folds in his habit and waved it wordlessly around the room. Hermione's skin prickled as a powerful set of wards, presumably against spies and eavesdroppers sprang into place. He slid the wand into its invisible pocket and stood in the shadow next to the window, looking at her.

She was relieved to find that his gaze no longer had the ability to completely unnerve her, for all that her mind was still reeling from the shock of seeing him again. She took his moment of perusal to do some perusing herself.

The years had been kind to him. The creases on his face were deeper than they had been fifteen years ago and his black hair was shot through with silver, but his face no longer had the sickly, emaciated look that she remembered, and his hair had been cut short, which made his dark eyes the focus of his face, rather than his hooked nose. A narrow beard ran along his jaw line and encircled his mouth, softening the harsh line of his lips. He was still slender but no longer painfully thin, and the white robe he wore beneath his dark scapular set off the warm olive tones of his skin- the skin of a man who did honest labour in the sun.

As dramatic as the improvement of his appearance was, what struck her most was the lack of inarticulate fury that she would have expected of him. Instead, he observed her calmly, and as the infinitesimal quirk of his lips suggested, with increasing amusement.

Belatedly, she recalled that some members of his order took a vow of silence. She opened her mouth but found that she had very little to say that wasn't a question about how he survived the snake bite or what in Merlin's name he was doing living in a monastery, so she settled for very little.

"It's good to see you looking so well," she blurted out.

This caused the quirk in his lip to twitch so violently that Hermione feared he had an itch. However, the twitch blossomed into a small smile, but one so devoid of malice that it was a strange expression to her, though hardly an unpleasant one.

"Right, so you're probably wondering why I'm here," she said. "I don't suppose it will surprise you to know I'm looking for a book."

A spark of humour danced in his eyes, and even she had to laugh at how little she appeared to have changed since their last meeting.

"Before you get the wrong idea, I'm here primarily because my assistant specifically requested that I pick up some of your beer while I was in Flanders. I didn't have any luck finding the book in Bruges or Ghent and decided that, since I had to come here anyway, I should look in your library. I don't suppose you happen to have any fragments of Roman-era papyrus from Oxyrhyncus or reasonable facsimiles thereof, do you?"

Severus looked at her with an unreadable expression, and to her surprise, he spoke. "The books in this monastery's collection are for the sole use of the monks. _Lectio divina_ , or spiritual reading, is one of the core tenets of the Cistercian order."

His voice was mild, but his non-answer still set aquiver the unerring instinct that made Hermione a successful antiquarian and very difficult to beat at cards. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense for Severus to be the source to whom Lucius had alluded. "How very interesting," she said, "but the book I'm looking for is decidedly less than spiritual."

Rather than the look of guilty acknowledgement she expected to find, Severus Snape's eyes were twinkling. "One wonders for what purpose you desire such a text. Is your interest purely academic?"

"Nothing so lofty, I'm afraid."

"Indeed?" If Hermione didn't know better, she'd say she was being flirted with by a monk. The idea was oddly intriguing.

"I'm on a job," she clarified.

"I had concluded as much," he said, "and for our old friend Lucius. Again I ask, is your interest purely academic?"

If Hermione were less self-possessed, she would have shivered from the way his voice could wrap itself around words and give them entirely new meanings. "How did you know I was working for the elder Malfoy?"

"Lucius is the only collector in Britain who owns any of the Oxyrhyncus hoard."

Ha! Hermione, who had been feeling slightly off-balance having to deal with an alive, fit, and possibly flirtatious Severus Snape who smiled, had finally landed on her conversational feet, now that he had admitted to such specialised knowledge about Lucius's collection and the British collection of ancient texts. "Not so," she said. "He only thinks he is."

Snape's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Really?"

Snape had to be the source. And if Snape was the source, then it only followed that- "The manuscript is a Duplicate."

She expected Snape's eyes to narrow at the accusation, but he looked merely curious. "How did you reach that conclusion?"

"Well, my battery of tests showed that it wasn't a standard counterfeit- most of those can be identified because the processes to make something new appear old are imperfect and leave traces. That's what led me to suspect that it was a magical Duplicate. Duplicates as I'm sure you know are virtually indistinguishable from original manuscripts, though only the most audacious will attempt to pass a Duplicate off as an original if the original has known provenance. Given that there were no Duplication spells in antiquity, when one encounters two identical ancient manuscripts, one can conclude that the one with provenance is the original and the other is a Duplicate. Given that Lucius's gift is unknown to the world, one can only conclude that it is a new discovery, in which case the person who discovered it would be an idiot to give it away, even to a friend."

Snape nodded, as if in agreement. "It's a sound, if cynical argument," he said. "Given your past with Lucius, one wonders why you haven't simply told him his manuscript is a fake and delighted in charging him a thousand Galleons to tell him so."

"And risk him destroying the only copy of Sappho's tenth book that's been seen by any British academic?" exclaimed Hermione. "Never!" She felt a smirk coming on. "At least not until I'd got a glimpse of the original, of course."

"You're assuming there is an original," said Snape.

"I'd fervently hoped there was an original, at least until I realised that the manuscript had come from you," she said. "Given that Catholics, even those who have taken vows of poverty, never eschew cultural or intellectual riches, I am all but certain there's an original. I will be happy to swear not to inform Lucius of its existence if you would be so good as to let me see it."

"No good, Miss Granger," he said, smiling in a predatory way that was infinitely more familiar, if not reassuring. "Revealing to Lucius that I'd given him a nearly unique gift worth hundreds of thousands of Galleons instead of a priceless one will have little to no effect on our friendship. If you wish to blackmail me, you're going to have to come up with something far worse."

Hermione tutted in exasperation. "I'm not trying to blackmail you," she said. "If I wanted to do that, I'd threaten to reveal your presence to the Wizarding world, and given that I'd probably end up Obliviated in the middle of a hop field, I'd be a fool to try. I was trying to provide an incentive."

He turned toward the window, and Hermione was shocked to see the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes. "Forgive me, Miss Granger," he said, delicately wiping the rims of his eyes with his fingers.

Hermione was suddenly struck by the fact that Snape had chosen this place, the site of some of the twentieth century's most horrific bloodbaths, to make his home. She had known from looking at him that he was no longer the bitter, angry man he had once been, and she cursed her flat-footed references to that which he had moved beyond. She gave him a moment to compose himself. "Are you all right?"

"I daresay I've never been better," he said, "but I haven't had a conversation with someone-" he paused, "-from before, in so long. I live a simple life here, Miss Granger, and the tools I needed for outside survival have grown rather rusty from disuse."

"They seem appropriately sharp to me," said Hermione, with a wry smile. "Perhaps it's not so much that the tools are rusted as your hands are out of practice in wielding them."

This earned her the tiny, almost shy smile that she was beginning to find most endearing. "Perhaps," he agreed.

The sound of men's voices lifted in song drifted through the open window.

"We shall have to continue this conversation another time," he said. "Tierce is nearly over, and you must to leave before you're discovered."

"But the manuscript-" began Hermione.

"-will not be going anywhere," he finished for her.

Hermione's heart began to pound. "You still have it?"

"Of course I still have it," he said. "I have two more volumes I was saving for Lucius's tenth fiftieth birthday."

Her knees turned to water and she sat down hard on the bed. "Severus Snape, do you mean to tell me that you are in possession of fragments spanning Sappho's entire tenth book? But how-" she trailed off as she saw how uncomfortable her use of his given name had made him.

"I didn't always live in a monastery," he said, "but as long as I live in one, please refer to me as Brother James."

Hermione blinked in surprise. "James?"

Something like regret passed over his face before he relaxed once more. "Meaningful penance requires letting go of a great deal, Hermione," he said.

Hermione was tempted to ask more, but she held her tongue, considering the possibility of examining not one but two volumes of new fragments, not to mention the possibility of finding out how on earth Snape had cheated death and what he'd been doing for the past fifteen years. "When may I return?"

He considered for a moment. "Come to the café tomorrow for lunch," he said. "I'll have something waiting for you there that will help you gain access to the monastery."

"But how-" she began.

Snape placed his finger against her lips, which surprised her too much to protest further.

"Hush. You'll see." He pulled his wand from his robes and dispelled the wards, then tapped her gently on top of the head. She felt a Disillusionment charm ripple across her skin.

He stepped into the hallway and glanced back at her before walking briskly towards the courtyard.

She followed as quietly as possible, and when they were halfway to the side gate, the chapel door opened and the monks began to process from the chapel in a line. Hermione did her best to walk in time with Snape so that her footsteps wouldn't be audible. He turned to give her a surreptitious wink when he realised what she was doing.

Snape picked up his pace and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "I can't risk opening the gate, since that stupid sod Aloysius has his eye on me. I'll leave you, and once the courtyard has cleared, Apparate to the other side of the gate and wait until you're sure you're alone to remove the spell."

Hermione glanced over towards the chapel and noticed that a large bald monk was staring at Severus in a decidedly unfriendly way.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked.

"If you choose," he replied, with a dangerous smile. He turned and left her standing by the gate, grinning invisibly after him.

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

nothing can take its place in my mind, this beauty of girls

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

Hermione spent the night at a mediocre bed and breakfast two towns away. She suspected her lack of sleep had less to do with the lumps in the bed than it did with the thoughts that were rushing in a torrent through her mind. Severus Snape was alive; the man to whom the Magical population of Britain owed its life's breath, the man whose heroic deeds had earned him an Order of Merlin, First Class, the man whose obsessive love had inspired a whole generation of silly teenaged witches to write poems in halting meter.

What's more, Severus Snape had at least one confederate in Lucius Malfoy. The choice seemed odd to Hermione, unless Snape was in the monastery because Malfoy had blackmailed him out of house and home. But that didn't fit the extremely lavish birthday gifts or the warmth in his voice as he spoke of Lucius. Perhaps the Wizengamot had had good reason to punish Malfoy with only a fine for his crimes, if he remained friends with Snape even after it became evident that Snape had been working for Dumbledore all along.

Flinging off the covers in frustration, Hermione turned on the bedside lamp and pulled out Lucius's manuscript and her notes. Sappho's works were popular even now, particularly with the young, who heard whispers that they were dirty. However, the Sappho that Hermione had surreptitiously borrowed from her parents' library was nothing like the Sappho magical children knew. Muggles knew that Sappho liked girls as well as boys, but Wizards knew her as the definitive creator and collector of sex spells in verse. However, not a single one of Sappho's spells had survived in its entirety. One apocryphal story held that a book had existed as far as the dark ages, when it had been translated by Muggle monks as "The Compleat Resource For Blackest Magick, The Sort Of Which, If It Would Not Damn One To The Fiery Pit, Would Be For Use Only Within A Wedded Union That Might Result In Procreation So As Not To Be Fornication," only to have been destroyed in a fire caused by a candle being knocked over during an orgy.

Hermione couldn't help but wonder what Severus Snape was doing with the manuscripts, especially considering his distinctly celibate choice of vocation. Perhaps he was homosexual. Or perhaps he was just well-versed in the joys of autoerotica. Perhaps he wasn't even really a monk. A part of her that she didn't wish to think about too hard hoped very much it was the last option.

She opened the book and began flipping through the poem-spells, all of which seemed to have something to do with male anatomy, except for one partial fragment at the top edge of a larger fragment. She recognised the last lines at the top of the page from an extant fragment translated by Muggles as "trench for watering the garden." However, in full form, it read:

__

cheerful Venus, let the trench for watering  
the garden be filled, nourishing the deep roots

Beneath it was a diagram showing a hand moving in a figure-eight over what was unmistakably a woman's abdomen. There was a large hole in the manuscript just below the bottom of the diagram, and Hermione found herself wondering what the missing instructions were, and wondering what the spell did. The friendly invocation of Venus- the Roman translator's work, as the original was undoubtedly Aphrodite- indicated that it did something sensual, and "trench" was often slang for female genitals, and watering suggested lubrication or ejaculate, but as arousing as the line of inquiry was, it was ultimately futile without all the words.

Hermione sighed and closed the book, cast several protective spells on it, then turned out the light on the bedside table. As she settled into bed, she began to think about translation. Sappho's original had been in an obscure dialect of Ancient Greek that had gone out of fashion centuries before it was translated into Latin by an unknown scribe and dumped into the rubbish dumps on the outskirts of an ancient Egyptian regional capital. It was rather depressing to think how little her own English translation from the Latin would resemble Sappho's original. However, only these Latin fragments remained, and there was no use crying over spilt milk.

It was quite warm and muggy in her room, even with the window open, and Hermione kicked the askew bedspread off the foot of the bed and wriggled onto her side to pull her nightdress up so that the thin sheet was all that separated her warm skin from the night air. This cooled her but also made her far more aware of the lumps in the sagging mattress. She punched her pillow savagely, trying to get comfortable, and settled onto her back, absently rubbing her bare stomach. This seemed to help, and her eyes fell shut. As she began to settle into sleep, half-consciously, her hand settled into a figure-eight movement, and Sappho's words appeared in her mind's eye, in her own handwriting, no less. And then she heard the words, whispered.

cheerful venus, let the trench for watering  
the garden be filled, nourishing the deep roots

A refreshing breath of breeze came from the open window, and Hermione's sigh of contentment felt like it was part of a dream, a soft, liquid dream where the tension in her mind and shoulders melted and flowed down the conduit of her spine, pooling in the most intimate of places in her lower pelvis, beneath her gently moving hand. Within the freedom of the dream, Hermione slid her hands between her legs, and finding an abundance of moisture there, explored with curious fingers.

She dreamed she was on a mountain, lying naked on a sunny rock at the edge of a green meadow. Strange music was emanating from across the meadow from somewhere out of sight. The sunlight felt as if it were made of a million tongues of flame, licking her skin gently, caressing and warming it. She was not alarmed in the least when a tall man, as naked as she but for a crown of leaves on his dark, shining hair, approached her rock. His penis was enormous and erect, and no words needed to be exchanged. She spread her thighs, feeling a delicious wave of pleasure as the air gently cooled the moist flesh between her legs.

The man towered over her, and she raised her knees to allow him immediate access to what both their bodies demanded. He lowered himself over her, setting his knees between her legs and eased himself into her. Her eyes rolled back in her head until all she could see was blackness, and all she could feel was the fullness of their engagement as they rocked against one another's bodies in the age-old rhythm. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she climaxed, and her eyes flew open to reveal the small room, grey in the predawn light.

Sill half asleep, Hermione rolled over onto her stomach, separating her wet thighs and allowing the night air to flow between them, cooling her overheated flesh. She curled her arm up beneath the lumpy pillow and fell into a deeper sleep, not waking until many hours later.

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

a hummock of a bulge at the crotch, that diner on eyeless eels

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

Hermione had a thoroughly refreshing lie-in the next morning, though it meant missing breakfast. Given the quality of the room, Hermione would have been surprised to find anything palatable served. She managed to locate a coffee shop that sold tea and enjoyed _pain au chocolate_ , some runny local cheese, and fresh berries. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept so well. She didn't recall much of her dreams from the night before, but from the tangled mess of nightdress and sheets she'd found herself in that morning, she suspected they had been extremely pleasant.

After checking out of the bed and breakfast and Shrinking her overnight bag, she took her time returning to Westvleteren. Rather than Apparate, she cast a Disillusionment charm on herself and her ancient-but-serviceable broomstick and flew across the countryside at a leisurely pace, admiring the verdant fields below and towering trellises and wondering at how the today's farmers had caught the torch from the soldiers' failing hands and brought life from a region that had seen so much death. Hermione's heart swelled when she thought of Severus doing the same with his brothers in the monastery, making ale with the fruits of the land, harvesting the fields that were so vividly green that it made her retinas ache as she flew over.

By the time she reached the monastery, however, the blue skies had darkened to grey, and a dark line of storm clouds cut across the horizon. Having been aloft for nearly an hour, Hermione was more than ready for a _croque monsieur_ and a pint of world-famous ale.

To her annoyance, she received nowhere near a pint of the "twelve" beer Jason had requested, served in a poncy little glass with a silver rim. However, the small size was soon forgotten when the first sip passed her lips. She enjoyed beer as much as her compatriots, but the flavours that spread across her tongue were so far removed from her definition of beer as to be something completely different.

She tasted black currant, plum, something floral, cardamom, and a chewy sweetness with only the least suggestion of alcohol as the liquid slid down her throat, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. Hermione stared at the glass in front of her, unsure of whether to sigh happily or cry because this made all other beers she'd drunk seem like lightly flavoured water.

Fortunately, the lady who had taken her order re-appeared with a grilled ham and cheese sandwich that smelled like heaven, accompanied by a small glass dish filled with cornichons and silverskin onions. She also handed Hermione a bundle that was tied with twine and had her name written on it. Hermione glanced around the café to see if anybody had noticed, but everyone was too busy enjoying their beer and food and watching the rain outside to pay any attention to her. She slid the package under the table and finished her food and drink, wishing wistfully for another glass of beer to fortify her for whatever had made Severus Snape grin at her so wickedly when she had left him the previous day.

The ladies' toilet was empty, and Hermione wasted no time locking herself in and reinforcing the lock with a Forgetfulness spell that she hoped wouldn't cause any accidents before she had the opportunity to remove it.

She untied the twine and unwrapped the brown paper parcel to reveal a pile of brown and white cloth, a small phial, a packet of papers, and a letter.

_H-_

_You will find enclosed a beverage of our poetess's design that, with the other contents of this package, will remove all impediments to future visits. However, once consumed, you will need to find me in order to have the impediments reinstated._

_-S_

_PS Since I cannot trust you to hold your questions for much longer and I do not wish to discuss them at length, the answers are:  
1\. An enormous dose of Blood Replenisher, a Bezoar, and a friend who knew how Arthur Weasley survived.  
2\. Penance.  
3\. In Oxyrhincus, of course._

Hermione stared at the parchment, bemusedly ticking off the answers to her questions. The first was so obvious she couldn't believe she hadn't considered it before. Of course a snake like Nagini would have made only the tiniest puncture wounds in his neck to inject her venom, certainly not wounds large enough to cause the excessive bleeding she had seen. And that would also explain how Lucius knew that Severus had survived- he had been Severus's confederate. The second seemed like an obvious reason for living like a monk for nearly a decade. The third made her smile. It didn't really answer her question about how he'd found the manuscript, but it would do for the time being. The most pressing question she had now concerned the mystery potion.

The phial was filled with green sludge that looked like nothing so much as pesto. However, when she removed the stopper, the primary odour was something floral that she couldn't quite place, though the smell was comfortingly familiar. She set the open phial on the sink and examined the package's other contents. To her surprise, the cloth turned out to be a monk's habit identical to Snape's, although shorter, wrapped around a pair of plain leather sandals. The letters were artfully forged letters of reference and introduction for a Brother Herman, an apprentice bookbinder lately of Mount Saint Bernard's Abbey in Leicestershire. As a professional who earned more making a single bespoke volume than any abbey likely saw in a year, she was nettled by her demotion until she realised that all Cistercian master bookbinders probably knew one another by name, if not by sight.

That settled, Hermione considered the phial in front of her. It was part of her disguise, that much was certain. But what was it? It couldn't alter her appearance too drastically- a major change, like that brought on by Polyjuice Potion, wouldn't last long. Perhaps an Illusion? Well, there was only one way to find out. She raised the phial to her lips and drank.

Herbal bitterness exploded on her tongue and down her throat, and her stomach began to rebel. She leaned forward on the sink, willing herself not to vomit. But as suddenly as her nausea had manifested itself it went away, to be replaced by an extremely curious and not altogether unpleasant sensation. It was as if an army of ants was marching across her skin in calfskin slippers. Odd waves of tension rippled over her skin, tantalising her, tightening her nipples and giving her a heavy feeling in her lower abdomen. She began to pant as the tickling tightness took on a decidedly pleasurable edge. Her hands flew to her breasts, which felt as if they were kneading themselves from within; her nipples were hot centres of pleasure that grew tighter and more intense with each passing second.

But this was soon secondary to the growing sense of urgency she felt between her legs, where the low-grade vibrations were becoming stronger and stronger. She fumbled with the button on her trousers, pulled them down around her ankles and cupped her pudenda with both hands.

As soon as her hands touched the fabric of her knickers, she realised something was very wrong. The moist cleft she expected to find had swollen outward and was continuing to swell under her hands. Panic and something else far more electrifying shot through her, and she yanked off her knickers, half fascinated and half terrified of what she would find. The elastic edge of her underwear was stuck, but it was a moment before Hermione realised what it was stuck on.

She was now the proud owner of a penis. An erect, twitching penis with, her hand confirmed, two extremely sensitive bollocks hanging beneath, which tightened at her touch and sent a jolt of pleasure to her very centre, or where her centre had once been.

Her hands shot to her chest, and she was only half surprised to find that her breasts had disappeared, leaving behind flat nipples which despite their smallness were every bit as sensitive as hers had been. A glance in the mirror showed a vaguely familiar face, but with a squarer jaw than she possessed, slightly rough with nascent stubble. But her perusal was interrupted by the clamouring from between her legs.

Kingsley, into whose bed she had fallen the night of Ron and Lavender's party (for old time's sake), had encouraged her to be rough with his organ- something that she hadn't imagined as being arousing until now, as her feather-light exploratory touches woke a stronger need. She squeezed the testicles, tugging them away from her body, and groaned- a completely unfamiliar sound that momentarily drew her out of the haze she'd been in. Exploration was very well and good, but she could not afford to be discovered.

She cast a quick Muffliato around her, dropped her wand by the sink, and wrapped her wand hand around the cock that was straining outwards, looking rather neglected.

The first stroke of her fist made her grateful for the charm, as a guttural moan emerged from her throat. She squeezed the base of her shaft, delighting in the fierce pleasure that ran through her body, and stroked upward, running her thumb around the edge of the glans. A droplet of liquid appeared at the tip, and the sight of it made Hermione shudder against the sink and fall backwards against the cool tile wall.

She began to pump her hand rhythmically up and down her length, as her other fell between her legs to massage the balls. Blood roared in her ears as her hands moved faster and more frantically up and down the shaft. Several more viscous drops had leaked out the head of her penis, and she rubbed them over the head with her thumb, her whole body jerking in pleasure from the sensation.

"Oh, God," she announced to no-one in particular, as her hand sped up, seemingly of its own accord. Her eyes screwed shut as the enormous ball of tension in her groin pulled itself tighter and tighter inside. And then the pressure exploded out of her in blinding climax. She was keening helplessly, doubled over, her hands frantically squeezing the base of her penis. She managed to open her eyes, and the sight of seed spurting in uneven arcs was enough to bring on a second wave of climax. Delicious spasm followed delicious spasm, and slowly her need waned until she returned to herself, half-naked and slumped against the bathroom wall, breathing hard.

She groaned once more, as her penis twitched in the final throes of climax, and she gently stroked the shaft, slick from her own ejaculate. She let out a shaky breath and lowered herself to the floor. Her erection was fading, and she touched it uncertainly. It twitched, but made no effort to return to its previous state.

When she had sat for some minutes, she began to grasp the implications of the potion she had consumed. The potion didn't change one into another person, it merely changed one's own sex, something that, she had to admit, required considerably less magic than Polyjuice. But it was still an incredible accomplishment.

She eventually found the strength to rise, clean up the mess she'd made on the floor, and remove her shirt and now useless brassiere. She examined herself in the mirror and found that her chest wasn't nearly as defined as she'd hoped. To be honest, she wasn't much to look at as a man. Her waist was thicker than in her female form, and her newly narrow hips were crowned by the soft circle of fat that many middle-aged men sported. At least she was several inches taller than she had been, which was nice. Her still-small features seemed ridiculous next to the square chin, which she scratched, wondering if her looks would be improved by growing a thin beard like Snape's. To her chagrin, her bushy hair remained the same, no matter what her sex.

Belatedly, she realised she'd been occupying the loo for over ten minutes, and she hurriedly dressed herself in the habit Snape had given her. He'd even included a leather thong to tie back her hair. Her own clothes and Shrunk possessions she rolled into the cloth wrapping and tied tightly with string. For good measure, she Charmed the twine to be unbreakable and unknotted only when the counterspell was applied, which she hoped would prevent any nosy brothers from discovering the brassiere, panties, or Chudley Cannons t-shirt within.

Hermione dispelled her Forgetfulness spell and her hand was on the doorknob when she remembered that the door to the loo opened onto the café, and it wouldn't do for a monk to be seen exiting the ladies' room. Fortunately, the window opened behind the café and was just large enough for Brother Herman to climb through. Unfortunately, the muddy patch that had formed just below the window wasn't quite as solid as it appeared.

Snape's eyebrows rose in surprise.


	2. Chapter Two

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

and i yearn and i hunt

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

The monastery was a pleasant surprise. No sooner had the door opened to admit her than Hermione was embraced, kissed, and welcomed with joy that their silence could not mask. She submitted to this affection, strange as it seemed, with only the slightest initial hesitation, and allowed herself to be ushered to the kitchen to warm herself in front of the fragrant bread oven, and then to the abbot's cell.

The abbot perused the letters of introduction without speaking, then asked in accented but fluent English, "You studied bookbinding under Brother Mark, did you not?"

Hermione nodded.

"Good," he said, nodding. "Brother Aloysius, our resident bookbinder, is largely self-taught, and he will greatly benefit from your teaching during your stay with us. I only wish you could stay longer than a week. Out of curiosity, do you sing?"

Hermione shook her head, slightly bewildered by the change of subject.

The abbot sighed. "Ah well, I suppose it would be too much to ask that one person fill all of our community's needs. I suppose I might recruit Brother James to the choir, but Brother Pieter is adamant that he stay in the brewery. You knew our Brother James at St. Bernard's, yes?"

Hermione nodded.

The abbot's face grew stern. "You knew him before he was Brother James?"

Hermione, surprised by the question, hesitated only a moment before nodding.

The abbot's eyes closed for a moment. "Thank you for telling the truth. I am happy to know this. Brother James has been alone in his cell since Brother Mathieu left. You are welcome to share his cell for as long as you wish."

Hermione's eyes must have shown some of her disquiet, for the abbot chuckled. "If Brother James does not like this, tell him to speak with me. It will do him good to have company who does not fear him."

Hermione had to smile at this, and the abbot returned her amusement with an avuncular twinkle that reminded her unaccountably of Albus Dumbledore, for all that the abbot, with his gaunt body, hairless skull, and long fingers, much more closely resembled Voldemort.

"Tomorrow, Brother James will introduce you to the monastery and its residents," he said. "However, as we are in particular need of your skills, you will join Brother Aloysius in the library."

Hermione nodded eagerly, and the abbot rose, smiling. "This way, Brother Herman."

He led Hermione down a cool hallway lit by north-facing windows, through which the afternoon sun was pouring. "You should have time to settle in before Vespers," he said. "I'll send Brother José with your linens. Do you have any other needs?"

Hermione shook her head and smiled gratefully at the abbot.

"God be with you, Brother."

Hermione nodded in what she hoped was an "and also with you" sort of way. It must have been adequate, since the abbot left, closing the door behind him.

Hermione pulled her wand from her sleeve and reflexively cast a complement of privacy wards. That settled, she set about to examining the room. It was small, but not cramped, austere, but not Spartan, with white plaster walls, heavy wooden beams across the ceiling and simple wooden furniture dark with age. The beds lay against opposite walls, and there were two small desks, a bookshelf, and a narrow wardrobe. There was a large, east-facing window on the wall above the desk that Severus had claimed with a small stack of books and some writing accoutrements.

A quick glance informed her that these were not the volumes she was so anxious to see, and she opened the wardrobe. Unsurprisingly, it contained three identical white robes, a spare surplice that was a deep chocolate brown instead of black, and a pair of shoes and heavy cloak for winter. Half of the wardrobe was empty, presumably for her to fill with her belongings. She nearly missed the upper shelf of the wardrobe, which, she soon discovered, was because Severus had cast a spell on it to discourage notice.

Eureka!

She had to stand on a chair to reach the books, which were stacked against the very back of the wardrobe, but she was hit by the unmistakable scent of ancient papyrus. There were two enormous volumes, passably hand-bound in plain morocco leather with cream manila signatures, but the sheer number of papyrus fragments took her breath away. There had to be hundreds, far exceeding what was known, even by those who specialised in the seventh century BC. Severus Snape had a treasure trove of antiquities stowed in his wardrobe.

She was suddenly very anxious for Severus's return. She had to know in what condition he'd found them, how he'd decided to arrange them the way he had, and, she smiled wryly, rubbing her chest where her breasts had been, how much of Sappho's collected magic was complete enough to work. She placed the heavy volumes on her bed, unpacked her few belongings, taking care to hide all of her old clothes beneath a Concealment Charm. There was a soft crackle from the area of the door, which was one of her wards telling her that someone was approaching. Wishing she'd had the foresight to conjure a peephole visible only to wizards, she hastily dismantled her spells just in time for her to hear a soft knock at the door.

She girded her loins, which only had the effect of reminding her that she hadn't actually used the toilet at the café. The realisation that she neither knew where the toilet was nor how to use it was an unpleasant one. However, that would have to wait.

She opened the door to reveal a short, podgy monk who smelled pleasantly of soap and hot metal and carried an armfull of sheets, towels, and a blanket. Hermione gave a little bow of thanks as she took the pile of fresh linen, and as she put her face close to smell the thin but scrupulously clean sheets, she had an idea.

She quickly deposited the clean linen on the desk, seized the wash flannel on the top of the pile, and held it out to him, hoping that the questioning and slightly pained look on her face would be sufficient to communicate to him what she needed.

After a moment's bewildered hesitation, the skin around his eyes crinkled in mirth, and he gestured for her to follow him. The lavatory was a long, narrow room with a row of sinks down one side, several private stalls, whose presence made Hermione sigh in relief, and an open row of showers that made her even more nervous than she had been. Given that she was currently the only person in the toilet, she turned to face the trough urinal that hung from the wall next to the toilets. She set her jaw. If little boys could learn to write their names in the snow, surely she could figure out how her new equipment worked. She hiked up her habit, pulled down her pants and gingerly grasped her newest addendum.

She focused on relaxing her bladder, something she hadn't done while standing since getting lost whilst exploring in a field by her gran's house, and was delighted when she managed to release a trickle, which then became a torrent. She was getting the hang of aiming- the trough urinal was laterally forgiving, when she heard an amused snort behind her.

She jumped, which would have made a horrendous mess had her panic response not closed off the stream. When she realised that this was as far as her humiliation would go, she yanked her habit back into place and spun around to scowl at Severus Snape, who was leaning against a stall and regarding her with good humour.

"A perfectly adequate result for what I'm assuming is your first try," he said. "Though here's a hint: monks don't usually wear satin knickers."

She blushed to the roots of her hair, but she couldn't suppress a snort of amusement. "Do they wear satin knickers on feast days?"

"And holy days of obligation," he said, returning her smile. "I saw that you found the books."

Her smile was unrepentant. "I didn't think I'd see you until later."

"Brother Bernard, the abbot, said you had arrived, and Pieter, the brewmaster, gave me leave to help you settle in. Are you finished here?"

Hermione flexed the muscles around her bladder experimentally, which made her penis twitch, but also assured her that she wouldn't need to urinate again for quite a while. "I think so," she said, pacing to the sink to wash her hands.

"I doubt the communal lavatory facilities were something you considered before taking me up on my offer."

She shrugged. "I've lived in close quarters with men before."

This caught him momentarily by surprise before he gave a curt nod.

Out in the hallway, a door slammed, which made Hermione jump.

"We should continue this conversation in our cell," he said quietly, walking to the lavatory door.

Hermione followed silently behind, drying her wet hands on her surplice.

Back in their cell, Severus withdrew his wand from the concealed pocket in his robe and cast a much-practised sequence of Silencing, Anti-Eavesdropping, and One-Way Transparency spells on the door. For good measure, he even cast a reflection Illusion on the window.

Once they were secure, Severus turned to face her with barely-concealed mirth. Hermione noticed that his face was flushed, though likely that was just from having come from work. "Well? What do you think of the potion?"

"It's extraordinary," she said honestly. "How long does it last?"

"There's an antidote that works immediately. Otherwise, it wears off in about a week," he said. "And it's quite simple to prepare from ingredients that may be found in a standard garden."

"How interesting that the effects are so long-lasting, considering it was invented to serve such an immediate purpose."

"On the contrary," said Snape. "From the poetry fragment that accompanied the recipe, it seems that the potion was intended for regular consumption by those who wished to live their lives as a member of the opposite sex. The rather incendiary hormonal responses would seem to be simply a pleasant side effect."

Incendiary hormonal responses, indeed. Hermione's eyebrows rose. "Is the response equally strong when shifting from male to female?"

"Yes." His dark eyes were dancing.

"That must have been difficult," she remarked. "I mean, it's a much simpler matter to deal with male arousal."

"I was prepared," he said, allowing the corner of his mouth to lift in a distinctly Mephistophelean smile. "You have read all the fragments I gave Lucius?"

"Of course I did," she said, "I even translated the lot, since that's what Lucius employed me to do if I can prove that his copy is genuine."

"Interesting," he said. "Do the spells work in secondary translation?"

She frowned. "How on earth should I know?"

He stared at her incredulously. "Are you saying that you haven't experienced the least bit of curiosity about the spells?"

"Of course I have," she said impatiently, "but all of the fragments in Lucius's book were intended for use by males, and until today, those avenues of experimentation weren't open to me."

Severus looked perplexed for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed. "My apologies," he said, chuckling. "I'd forgotten that I had selected only the male autoerotic fragments for Lucius's second fiftieth birthday. You see, his wife had left him for Potter the year before, and I saw it as an act of mercy. It was a happy coincidence that I'd entered the monastery a month earlier."

Interesting. "So that's why Lucius thinks his fragments are the genuine article," she said. "The timing led him to believe you were renouncing your earthly possessions."

"Or at least appearing to," amended Severus. "He helped me fabricate Brother James's past and connections, after all."

Hermione sat down on her bed. "I confess, I'm having a difficult time reconciling what I know of Lucius Malfoy and what you're telling me."

"People generally think of Lucius what he wishes them to think of him," he said.

"Well, it's clear that he's trying to get me to change my mind about him."

"How so?"

"First of all, he waved fragments of Sappho's tenth volume under my nose and is paying me handsomely to work on a manuscript I'd have paid him for the privilege of viewing. He went out of his way to show that he's not trying to publicly embarrass me- my solicitor is as devious as they come, and he couldn't find anything untoward in the contract he sent me for the job. What's more, I'm all but certain he attempted to flirt with me. It was somewhat unnerving."

"I imagine it was," said Severus. "Though in his defence, you cannot blame him for reassessing his prior opinion of you and wishing you to think well of him. Your reputation with books precedes you, even to those of us in hiding. If brother Aloysius had the least idea of your talents, he would hang up his bone folder and beg you take over the monastery's bookbinding and book repair. As it is, Lucius cultivates intelligent, talented acquaintances. The fact that you've grown into a powerful woman who fits his aesthetic tastes is simply the icing on the cake."

"Don't be absurd," she protested. "I'm not willowy or aristocratic-looking."

"Precisely," said Severus smugly. "Lucius's tastes have always run toward the Rubenesque. Have you never seen school or wedding pictures of Narcissa? She went on a strict reducing programme after producing a son, for her health, supposedly, though her adders' nest of acquaintances likely had more to do with it. And now you know why Draco Malfoy is an only child."

Hermione stared at him and suddenly felt a bit sorry for Lucius, who had stayed with a wife to whom he wasn't attracted for many years for propriety's sake, only to be thrown over for a younger, more powerful man. Of course, Lucius was still the man who stood idly by while she was tortured and had attempted to kill her and her friends, so whether or not he'd been treated shabbily by his wife was something of a moot point.

"So you're saying that there are more spells than simply for wanking?"

Severus sat on his bed and stretched his arms over his head. "Given what you know about Sappho, didn't it strike you as the least bit odd that there were only spells for males?"

"I found it completely plausible, given that her works disappeared in the early Christian era, that only the section of Sappho's work devoted to male pleasure would survive."

"What if I were to tell you that there are legible and castable examples from all eleven sections of Sappho's tenth book?"

"Then I'd be glad I'm sitting down," said Hermione, hardly daring to believe her ears. "Eleven sections?"

"It's every bit as egalitarian as one could want," he replied. "The first section features magic that can be cast by anyone, such as aphrodisiac, sensitivity, and lubrication spells, charms to turn one into a hermaphrodite, and the potion you used to create brother Herman and I used to create a rather statuesque lady by the name of Daphne."

"Daphne?"

"Even in female form, I am more than uncommonly tall," said Severus.

The dismay in his voice was irresistible, and Hermione giggled. It dawned on her that perhaps Severus was trying to change her mind about him as well. Given the positive change in his looks and demeanour, his efforts were hardly necessary, though he didn't need to know that yet. She cleared her throat and attempted to drag her thoughts back to Sappho. "What about the other ten sections?"

"Simple mathematical expansion. One section each for male and female autoerotica, three for the different configurations of two-person pairings, and four for each configuration of ménage e trois. The final chapter contains specialty spells."

"What about _ménages_ of more than _trois_?"

"The rationale is that all of those are comprised of groups of two or three, though the final chapter includes spells that enable one person to satisfy more than two partners comfortably."

"Like making a woman's legs bend to accommodate a man in front as well as in back?" asked Hermione, her curiosity aroused and her new bits not far behind.

"That's one," said Severus. "Another increases the elasticity of existing orifices to accommodate numerous or large objects. There are also spells to render physiologically unsuitable parts of the body capable of accepting sexual penetration. There are even spells that are specifically for assisting a human or humans to couple safely with beasts who are capable of giving consent."

"How many of these spells have you tried?" she asked, startling herself with her own boldness.

He met her frank look with one of his own. "As many as I was able, though experimentation has not been my priority since arriving here. Contrary to the Catholic Church's current reputation, relatively few couplings occur behind monastery doors."

"Do tell," she surprised herself by saying.

"Daphne never kisses and tells," he responded in a demure voice that made her laugh. "However," he continued, "let us just say that one who recently departed our fellowship has had a number of keen insights on the superficial construct that is gender."

"You mean that Brother Mathieu is now Sister Madeleine?"

Severus looked both surprised and gratified that Hermione knew his name. "One hopes that he will one day get around to seeing the gift I gave him as a miracle rather than temptation from Satan. But even if he never does, Tiresias had nothing on him for knowing how to please himself as a woman."

Hermione had little doubt that Severus's instruction had been exceedingly thorough, and the thought of it was giving her an enormous erection. Her fingers itched to touch it, but she ignored the impulse and instead threaded her fingers together and placed them on her lap to shield her arousal from Severus's view.

"You know, that potion alone could make you millions."

"I see no point. There are numerous other ways of accomplishing the same thing, and they are sufficiently complex and difficult so as to prevent them from being used as pranks."

She acceded to his argument with a careless gesture. "Still, if one were motivated by such things, one could make enormous sums publishing a translation. The novelty of reading Sappho's Big Book of Sex Magic alone would break records, let alone the long-term royalties once people discover that the book is good for more than wanking and making teenagers giggle."

"I know," he said, affecting boredom. "But think of the potential for lawsuits. This material is far safer in private hands."

"Is that what you intend to do with these fragments? Keep them in private hands?"

"Until I have tested all of the spells, yes," said Severus. "And even then, the notoriety of publication holds no interest for me. While polite society is far more permissive than it was a century ago, the book transcends numerous taboos and discusses them without more genteel euphemisms." He looked at her curiously. "But I don't get the impression that you're interested in publishing, either."

She shrugged. "I have worked very hard to make a reputation for myself as a serious academic and craftsperson. I have no desire to go down in history as the witch who brought sex magic to the masses. I just don't understand why you have any compunction in doing so, especially given-" Here she cut off, uncertain of how much he knew about how he was perceived back at home.

Unfortunately, Severus's ability to detect prevarication was undiminished. "You will finish that sentence," he said in a calm tone that still brooked no refusal.

"Given your reputation as a romantic hero," she finished lamely.

He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Hermione was seized with the irrational urge to giggle. "Harry took it upon himself to posthumously clear your name, and in doing so related some of the details of your relationship with his mum, and some publications felt like spicing it up a bit."

Severus's eyebrows had nearly merged with his hairline. "Spicing it up?" he echoed incredulously.

"If you're at all familiar with Muggle literature, your reputation as a romantic lies somewhere between Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights and Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre."

"Do you seriously expect me to believe that all of this could have happened since I entered the monastery?" he sneered. "Surely Lucius would-" he paused. "Lucius would find it terribly amusing," he finished, looking sour.

"The worst of it started about five years ago when someone writing under a pseudonym published a thinly veiled fictional account of your allegedly doomed love."

Severus had apparently given up on his attempt to change the status quo through scowling and began massaging his temples as if to stave off a headache.

"The main characters were named Lillith and Severo," she couldn't resist adding. "As absurd as it may seem to those of us who actually knew you, Severus Snape has been inspiring the sighs of teenagers and more than a few adults ever since."

"Including you?" he asked, his ill humour reminding her unaccountably of her school years.

"I had no romantic interest in you whatsoever," Hermione hedged.

He raised his gaze to her face, then gave a small nod, as if admitting something to himself. "Small mercies," he said, though she wasn't quite sure whether he was referring to her disinterest in his romantic reputation or her developing attraction to him. "In any event," he continued briskly, "I would be happy to recommend something for dealing with that rather impressive bulge of yours," he said, gesturing at her lap.

Hermione felt her face getting hot. She had forgotten how quickly he could turn the tables. "I'm sure I'll manage," she said when she had found her voice.

"I'm sure you could," he said, "but a simple wank is hardly conducive to the spirit of academic inquiry."

"As if there's a wanking spell in this collection you haven't already tried," she grumbled. And then it dawned on her what he had meant. "Hang on," she said, "are you saying suggesting that we experiment? Together?"

He looked her in the eye. "Hermione, in the course of this conversation, I have concluded that you are a confident, intelligent woman with a sense of humour and admirable sexual curiosity. In light of this, I have every confidence that if there is anything I can do to make you more comfortable, you will not hesitate to ask. I also trust that if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, you will tell me so."

"So you don't just mean experimenting," she said. "I must say, that's uncommonly direct for a Slytherin."

He gave her a sardonic smile. "Apparently my effort to become fluent in Gryffindor has been reasonably successful."

Hermione was seized with the urge to immediately take him up on his offer, which she blamed on the new bits of her anatomy that were quietly clamouring to promise him anything, provided he was willing to take the edge off. If she was to do this, it would be on her terms. The trouble was that she suspected her terms were similar enough to his own that it took a great deal of fun out of calling the shots. Still, there were a few things that came to mind. "I don't want to call you James."

"Will 'Severus' suit your purposes?" he asked dryly.

"Well, it's better than 'sir.'"

"I think we'll save 'master' and 'sir' for later," he said with a wicked smirk that made Hermione's heart beat a bit faster.

"I'll want my own copy of our work when we're done, in addition to the copy we make for Lucius."

"I expected as much."

"And I want you to be completely honest with me about the spells you've tried and their effects."

"Is that all?"

"Well, I'd also like forty percent of the royalties if we ever publish and your assurance that I will be allowed access to our notes and drafts."

"You drive a hard bargain, Hermione."

She smiled sweetly. "Not nearly as hard a bargain as I expect you to drive once we've reached an agreement."

He didn't choke in surprise- not exactly, but his shoulders hitched infinitesimally, and he had to clear his throat before promising on all counts.

She smiled and shook her head, wondering what kind of alternative universe she'd stepped into where she was negotiating having magically-enhanced sex with Severus Snape in the name of research. Still, she felt some satisfaction that she'd managed to negotiate in spite of her body's best attempts to distract her. "Good. Now teach me something."

He looked down his nose at her. "Has anybody ever told you that you're very bossy?"

She smirked. "Only everyone."

Severus sat down next to her and seized the first volume of Sappho, flipping gently through the fragments.

"You said you found dealing with male arousal much simpler than female arousal, correct?" he asked.

"It's fairly simple machinery."

"In theory," he said, closing the book. "But there's more to it than you see there," he said, gesturing toward her groin.

"There's the prostate," she said, and was satisfied to see him nod.

"Precisely. This spell generates erogenous zones along the passage leading to the prostate, thus making it far easier to climax without stimulating the external sex organs."

Hermione marvelled at the way he was able to keep his tone dry and detached. She was practically panting with anticipation.

He held the manuscript out to her and pointed to a fragment accompanied by an illustration that she didn't understand at first, until she realised that it was a picture of a finger touching an anus.

"So that's all I have to do?" she asked doubtfully.

"Well, you'll have to find a way to stimulate yourself. A Vibratatus Charm on one's wand is traditional."

"Wouldn't it work better with a partner?"

He gave her a measuring look. "I thought every witch was skilled with the Vibratatus."

"Most of us are," she said. "But that experience isn't exactly applicable to my present state."

He crossed his arms. "Surely you're clear on the theory."

Hermione's arousal pulsed even as she scowled at him. "Theory yes, practice no. Given my experience with broomsticks and tennis, I can assure you that I learn best from thorough one-on-one instruction."

"From being coddled, you mean," grumbled Severus.

Hermione fancied she saw a glint of humour in his eye. "I would feel much better to have someone experienced here in case anything goes wrong."

"It's masturbation, Hermione, not brewing Veritaserum," he said in a testy voice that reminded her of long-ago Potions classes. Finally he sighed, as if she had asked him to find a Knut in a pile of dragon dung. "Very well," he acceded in a glum voice that she instinctively knew was affected.

"Cheer up, Severus," she said, shifting to make room for him next to her on the narrow mattress. "The sooner we deal with this, the sooner we'll be able to do something about your bulge as well."

He harrumphed without annoyance. "Has anybody told you that you are impertinent?"

"Only everyone," she replied with a cheeky smile.

"I'm gratified to hear it," he sneered. "Now pull up your robe and discard those ridiculous knickers."

Hermione paused. She had never really enjoyed being looked at by a new lover- she had always been concerned that her breasts sagged too much or that her bottom was too dimpled. But following Severus's command felt entirely different because this time she was looking forward to seeing herself.

Even as she stood naked before him, she didn't bother to suppress a smile as she looked down at her cock jutting proudly from between her legs, with its smooth, ivory shaft, and its rosy tip. It was a very pretty thing, and as strange as it was to have it, she enjoyed having Severus look at it. She also discovered that having an exposed erection was rather like having a flag to wave in front of a bull so that it would pay attention to the flag and not the person behind it.

"Yes, very nice," said Severus, rolling his eyes. He handed her the book and lay lengthwise on the bed against the wall, which left plenty of room for Hermione to lie next to him. "Now, lie down, place your finger upon your fundament, and read the spell."

She positioned the volume next to her elbow and propped one leg up so that her knees were at right angles. Her wand she laid next to the book, in case it was needed for the Vibratatus. She stuck her arm behind her hip and insinuated her hand between her legs and up past her peritoneum and read the poem.

_behind the satyr's curls and fluting music  
the nymph places the lyre where it won't be found_

She removed her finger and waited. "How will I know if it worked?"

"By keeping your finger where it was until you feel something distinctive," he said, his voice soft and warm. "Think about the words, Hermione," he whispered. "That's where the magic is."

Hermione closed her eyes and did as she was instructed. At first there was only darkness and the sound of their breathing- his controlled and measured, and hers soft and irregular. The tight, puckered opening next to her finger felt as tight and resistant as it always had. But then there was music: a thin, reedy pipe called out a bright snippet of melody. In response, a string instrument twanged back, which was followed by several notes on a mellow whistle.

The pipe called and the other two responded in turn, each instrument adding a different colour to the darkness until Hermione found herself standing in a sunlit meadow. She was hiding behind the trunk of a tree that stood next to a small brook, naked and holding what appeared to be a wooden whistle. The pipe called once more, and Hermione raised the whistle to her lips and played. Wading in the reeds by the opposite bank was a satyr with a lyre, who plucked several strings in response to the pipe. Given the rather bestial looking erection he sported, Hermione suspected the game in which they were engaged was more than a game of musical Marco Polo. The idea was surprisingly arousing.

Suddenly, there were hands on either side of her hips, holding her firmly as a warm body pressed up against her. She belatedly realised that while she'd been admiring the lyre player, the pipe had gone silent, and its player had crept up on her unawares. However, her surprise soon turned into something quite different as a hot, hard length insinuated itself between her buttocks. But instead of tightening herself in alarm, she felt what she could only describe as a squish. But it wasn't an unpleasant feeling- quite the contrary. She gasped, and instinctively pushed backwards, only to encounter her own fingers. It sent a wave of pleasure through her, similar to but not exactly like a gentle brush against her clitoris.

"That's it, Hermione," whispered a deep voice in her ear.

She opened her eyes to find Severus behind her on the bed, his hand resting on her hip. While she could feel the heat of his body and his quickening breath on the back of her neck, he gave her enough space to explore the magic's effects on her body. She pressed her finger against her anus in earnest, and felt the normally tight ring of muscle give and spread accommodatingly outward, spreading a warm feeling through her lower back and abdomen that felt very much like female arousal. So familiar was the feeling to her that she lifted her top leg forward to give her fingers better access, only to have her leg rub up against the very male arousal that she had nearly forgotten about. Her free hand moved to grasp its length while she pressed inward with her other hand. The sudden jolt of arousal shot straight to her backside, which made her gasp in surprise.

"What do you feel?" he asked.

"Everything," she whispered, "It's like having both sets of bits at once."

"For the solo practitioner, this is far more suitable," he said, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. "Having a penis, vagina, clitoris, and prostate leaves one with too few hands."

This made her laugh. "I'll be happy to take your word for it," she said, wriggling backwards, trying to reach further up herself toward what she knew would be a blinding revelation, but her fingers were too short. She gave a whimper of frustration.

"Severus- help me, please?"

He raised his wand and cast the Vibratatus charm on her wand, but rather than take the buzzing object, she withdrew her fingers and pressed her body hard up against his.

Beneath the coarse robe he wore, his arousal twitched violently against her, even as his body stilled.

"Do you think that's wise?" His strained voice belied his calm words.

"It's a far sight wiser than leaving me to work out the best way to get myself off using a gland I never had before," she said, palming her own erection as she squeezed her buttocks together, which had the thoroughly pleasant effect of sending a wave of pleasure up her newly sensitised rectum and giving her prostate a warm pulse. However, an unpleasant thought occurred to her. "Unless you'd rather not, of course," she said, trying to keep her voice light as some of the throbbing need waned, and her erection softened slightly. "This is the most unusual first sexual encounter I've ever had, and if you'd prefer to wait until I'm, well, female, I'm sure I'll be able to deal with this on my own."

In response, the hand that had been resting on her hip slid upward, rubbing small circles on her lower belly and finally coming to rest on her thigh, next to her genitals. She twitched hard in anticipation and he gave an impressive twitch of his own against her backside.

"The first thing studying Sappho teaches one," he said, softly nuzzling her neck just below the ear, "is that the anatomy one possesses is largely irrelevant to attraction. However, I do understand that this is the first time you've had a penis or a prostate, much less a magically enhanced one, and I don't wish you to feel unduly influenced to couple with me simply because I am here and possess convenient equipment."

Hermione couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry and settled for a snort that sounded much better in male register than it did in female. "Severus, I apologise for not having made this clearer, but you are not unattractive to me in the least. In fact, this situation, albeit in a slightly different configuration, hasn't been far from my mind since I first encountered you yesterday."

"I see," he said, nosing her ponytail aside and sending hot breath across the skin of her neck. Hermione didn't think it was possible to be more aroused, and yet she was.

"And," she said, playfully rubbing her buttocks against his erection, "while I understand that some consider it more traditional to get to know a person before jumping into bed together, the quick, rough shag also has a long and glorious tradition, one with which I have a burning desire to become better acquainted."

The soft caress on her thigh became an iron grip on her cock, and she jumped, moaning her approval.

"Has anybody ever told you that you are an intolerable vixen?" he rumbled in her ear as he roughly stroked her.

"Only you," she said, joining her hands to his as they slid up and down her shaft.

Those seemed to be the magic words, because moments later, they were both fumbling with their cassocks, kicking off their sandals, and doing everything they could to maximise the amount of skin touching the other's. Hermione nearly climaxed as their penises touched one another, but Severus realised what was happening and pulled his hips back, giving her the space to regain control.

"There are spells to delay ejaculation," he said, offhandedly stroking the skin below her navel. "But I fear that's not in line with the quick, rough shag directive."

"Perhaps another time," Hermione agreed, rolling over on her side and exposing the part of her whose throbbing was growing more and more demanding. "However, a lubrication spell would not be amiss."

"The spell you cast does provide lubrication," he said, sliding his hand between her cheeks and running a finger along the outside of her opening. Despite the fact that there were fireworks exploding on the insides of her eyelids, she was vaguely aware of the moist heat that his finger encountered. She hoped he would interpret her groan as acquiescence.

Moments later, the blunt head of his cock was trembling against her opening, and Hermione was practically vibrating from the anticipation. She seized his hand, which was still rubbing warm circles on her stomach, and squeezed. He shifted his position, rested his chin on her shoulder, and pushed himself gently against her and, meeting little resistance, pressed into her.

Hermione arched her back into him, emitting tiny moans as his shaft moved inexorably deeper. Her eyes screwed shut, trying to hold on by sheer force of will to the sensation of his tentative penetration. It was like sex as a female, only with extra places to hold on. As he eased into her, she could feel deep within her a small button of tension that was spreading with his advance, as if reaching out towards Severus's cock.

She couldn't wait any longer- she ground her buttocks against his hips, and his cock made contact with the tiny spot, sending an enormous jolt of pleasure shooting through her.

She was aware on the edges of her consciousness that she was pumping her hands up and down the shaft of her penis and that Severus was whispering wonderfully filthy things into her ear. But as he withdrew and slid into her again, he touched off another line of fire through her, this one emanating from the tiny gland and sizzling outward through every synapse and setting alight erogenous zones she never even knew she had.

Her strokes grew even more desperate, and she could feel Severus's breathing growing more erratic, even as his thrusts remained even, gentle, and slow. Her breath was ragged as her backside contracted, and she was borne away in ecstatic delirium as the slow-building climax stoked by Severus's thrusts made bright colours swim before her as her body shuddered in sweet conclusion. His hands gripped her hips and he drove himself into her to the hilt. She could feel his bollocks pressed up against hers and the tip of his erection brushed the tiny gland that lay deep within her. Her eyes flew open at the pleasant shock, and she realised how much there was yet to come.

His hand gently but insistently pulled her hands from the hot, hard flesh she had been desperately squeezing and thrust into her again, squeezing her hands in his. She was finding it difficult to breathe, so intense were the sensations his cock roused within her. She was so completely filled with moist warmth that even without manual stimulation, the tension that had migrated from her arse to the tight sack that hung beneath the juncture of her thighs was so unbearable that she cried out, thrashing against Severus and attempting to pull her hands free.

He gave a guttural moan and one final, powerful thrust, and her entire body twanged forward like a bowstring. Her climax shot from her like a blinding arrow, spasm after spasm, until there was nothing left apart from quivering pleasure, and the tiny motions, amplified by her sensitised nerves, of the man who was still ensheathed in her and gently rubbing his hand on her chest as she returned to herself.

Hermione closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy his tender gestures. The unnatural resilience of her arse was already beginning to fade, though the fullness of his presence was still pleasurable. She gave an experimental squeeze, and was gratified to hear him moan softly before pressing his lips to her neck.

"Vixen," he whispered roughly.

"Debaucher," she returned, drawing his hands to where her breasts would have been and holding them tightly against her chest.

They lay there, unmoving, revelling in one another's tiniest movements. Though their arousal ebbed, their pleasure in one another's closeness was undiminished.

Never had Hermione been less pleased to hear a sound than when the bell sounded, calling them to Vespers. At least Severus's swearing in response was highly creative.

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

desire has shaken my mind as wind in the mountain forests roars through trees

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

Hermione had been living as a monk for less than five hours, and she was already chafing under the monastery's strictly regimented schedule and the need to sneak around when it came to sex. After nearly nodding off during Vespers- she was beginning to have some empathy for past paramours who nodded off immediately following lovemaking- the enforced silence of the supper was unnerving. After supper were some administrative meetings, during which discussions were had in French. Hermione surreptitiously cast a Translation Spell so she could hear what was going on only to find that everything sounded far more interesting in French than it did in English.

It wasn't until the last five minutes of the meeting that Hermione was introduced by her title as apprentice bookbinder and given her work assignment, which was to work in the library binding books with Brother Aloysius, a hulk of a man who would have looked more at home on a rugby pitch and stank of inexpertly cured leather.

Afterwards, it was more chanting at Compline, and then, Hermione thought, back to more experimentation. However, when she and Severus returned to their cell, he ignored her as she deliberately flipped through the third volume.

He raised an eyebrow at her when she cleared her throat unsubtly for his attention. "You do realise, my dear, that we will be rising at three-thirty in the morning for Vigils at quarter to four."

"Can't we tell them we have food poisoning or something?" she asked absently, distracted by the implications of a spell to make one's limbs stretch as far as one wanted.

Severus gave her a tight smile. "While I am grateful for your enthusiasm, we do need to keep up the most basic appearances while you are here in disguise."

"And by 'basic appearances,' you mean getting up at three thirty and showing up for chanting seven times a day, seven days a week?"

"That's part of it, yes," he said.

"Well, that's bollocks," she said. "If we're to get through these books before Lucius's birthday, then we're going to have to devote more time to studying them than the odd quarter or half hour of 'meditation.'"

"If history has taught us anything, it's that Lucius will always have more fiftieth birthday parties," said Severus. "There is no need to rush."

"I thought you said you wanted to present these fragments at this particular fiftieth," she countered. "Besides, I am not and have no desire to become a full-time monk. I have a business to get back to. I had two weeks to spend on this project, and I spent the first week finding you."

"Two weeks is an arbitrary deadline," he pointed out. "You could just as soon give yourself another month to deal with the additional fragments of which you were unaware before yesterday."

"My timeline is no less arbitrary than your insistence that we work on the project within these walls," she argued. "We could far more easily leave the monastery, let a flat with thick walls, and bang out translations during the day whilst banging out everything else at night. It's not as if you're planning to live a particularly monk like existence in the near future, anyway."

His face darkened. "I am not leaving."

Hermione belatedly realised that she'd crossed a line. "I'm sorry, Severus," she said. "It's just not a very convenient schedule for getting work done."

"It's not," he agreed, "but having you participate in the offices makes me feel slightly better about having you in here for purposes that the monks would consider immoral. You see, the abbey is a place where any person willing to live as a monk may find refuge and community. They don't care who you were before you arrived, merely the way you live and contribute to the community."

Hermione recalled the hurt on his face when she'd presented him with a stereotype from his past and felt slightly ashamed of herself. Of course it would be a shock to be Severus Snape, with all the baggage that came with it, again after eight years of being Brother James. And yet, she had to admit that Severus had taken to being himself once more with gusto, which made his reticence to leave seem somewhat odd, if not suspicious. What was keeping him here, if not the community or sense of penance?

And then it hit her: the work. Severus Snape had always been a nasty, horrid teacher, but his love for potions brewing was obvious. What was making ale, especially the ale that she had tasted at the cafe, if not another kind of magic? Hermione thought hard for a moment, then smiled.

"You know, there's a brewery attached to a pub very near my home."

"How nice for you," sniffed Severus, who was clearly keeping his cards close to his chest until it was clear where she was taking this.

"It's all right," she said. "Their beer isn't particularly good. I hear they're looking for a new brewmaster."

Severus snorted. "Good luck finding anyone capable in England who's not already working for someone better."

"A desperate situation, to be sure," she replied. "The owner's a fairly good friend of mine, and she's at her wit's end."

He looked at her hard. "Hermione, are you attempting to bribe me into leaving the monastery?"

"I don't know. Would having somewhere to brew whatever you want whenever you want seem attractive to you?"

"It's certainly, as you say, incentive, but it fails to address some of my more practical concerns about returning to England, namely that as far as anyone knows, apart from you and Lucius, I am dead."

"The fact that you're dead didn't stop you from travelling the world and mucking around in archeological sites in Egypt," she said.

"That was different," he said. "The dig was looking for volunteers and my appearance was sufficiently swarthy by that time that I had no trouble being taken on as a day labourer."

"Is that all you want?" she asked, finally putting into words what was bothering her. "To go from place to place and do menial work for the rest of your life?"

He crossed his arms. "Having had a highly respected position and occupied an Important Role in Society, I find that doing 'menial' work is far more pleasurable, not to mention less life-threatening."

"Those aren't your only options," she argued.

"Ah yes, I do have a third option of becoming a celebrity lover," he sneered.

Hermione glared at him. "The point is that you could do anything you wanted back at home. Kingsley Shacklebolt is back as Minister by popular demand, and he understands better than almost anybody the depth of your sacrifice for us. You could have your own lab in the Department of Ministries. You could be head chef at the canteen if you wanted."

"I could also receive daily death threats by post like Lucius," he countered.

Hermione thought for a moment. She hadn't realised how highly Severus valued not having to constantly look over his shoulder, and she certainly hadn't considered how less enlightened members of their society might take Severus's return. Wizards were a superstitious lot, and anything that bore the least suggestion of something taboo like Necromancy would forever be the subject of suspicion.

"Kingsley could also authorise the Department of Mysteries to make you a new identity," she said. "I helped design the programme for reformed Death Eaters back when I worked for the Ministry. We used the Fidelius Charm to hide the person's true identity, which kept everyone from recognising him or her, but allowing him or her to live a normal life. The Ministry provides the necessary documents - birth certificate, Apparation license, whatever is needed."

"Hermione, it's getting late and we both need to sleep," said Severus, sounding both tired and disgruntled. "We'll discuss this later."

She wanted to press the matter but opted to let the matter sit for the time being. "All right," she acquiesced, grabbing a towel and wash flannel from the pile. "You lot take showers at night?"

"Most of us usually do upon first waking, as well as after the afternoon work period."

"When we were otherwise engaged."

A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "Yes."

Despite her annoyance with Severus's stubbornness, Hermione was beginning to have an interesting idea. Merlin, she really was starting to think like a male. "Then we're likely to have the showers to ourselves?"

"It's possible," said Severus, who had cottoned on to what she was suggesting. "Probable, even."

"I found a spell in the second volume that has something to do with rain. A shower would be rather similar, don't you think?"

"I believe I know the spell you mean," he said. "I feel it only fair to tell you that I have not yet tried it, neither giving nor receiving."

Hermione's tiredness evaporated as her member leapt to attention. "I've always heard that it was better to give than to receive," she said. "I so enjoyed receiving this afternoon that I'm quite keen to try giving."

Severus seized his towel and flannel, and he and Hermione strolled nonchalantly down the hallway to the bathroom. True to Severus's prediction, it was deserted.

"Start the water," he ordered. "I'll secure the door."

The tap gave a rusty squeal but managed to produce a fairly powerful spray of cold water. Hermione slid off her cassock, hung it on a hook on the opposite hall, kicked off her sandals, and released her hair from its band. She gingerly stuck her foot into the spray, waiting for it to warm. Severus joined her, and she could see the gooseflesh on the skin of lean, pale legs. At last, a rattling pipe in the wall heralded the coming of hot water, and the temperature rose so suddenly that Hermione had to increase the amount of cold to keep from being scalded. When, the temperature was finally to her liking, and she stood beneath the shower head, enjoying the hot water that soaked into her hair and ran down her tired body.

He joined her in the spray, standing a few inches in front of her, and she looked up into his face, blinking away the droplets that bounced off his skin and realised that in their furious coupling, she hadn't kissed him. However, the realisation was soon rendered moot as his lips twisted into a sardonic smile, and he lowered his mouth to hers. His lips were firm and warm, and she playfully ran her tongue along his lower lip, which encouraged him to deepen the kiss. His lips tweaked and tongue caressed the different parts of her mouth with precision that was anything but clinical. His tongue was hot in her mouth, and she found that he tasted not of spice or food but of warm, clean flesh, inimitably masculine and uniquely him.

Kissing as a man was really not that much different than kissing as a female, she decided, except for the presence of stubble and the gentle negotiations required of two males to make room for their burgeoning erections. The heads of their cocks brushed and Hermione let out a shuddering gasp, and clumsily grabbed his hips to bring his nude body into contact with hers, but he stiffened and shook his head.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Hermione?"

Her arousal-fogged brain took a moment to process this query, but she finally realised that he was referring to the spell. She wondered if it would be worth it, since the feeling of hot water running down her body was a delicious one to begin with, and the presence of a naked Severus pushed the experience into extraordinary territory. But if Sappho's previous spell was any indication, then she was in for a treat.

Recalling the diagram, Hermione slid her arms beneath Severus's and cupped her hands beneath the shower head. As the warm water pooled in her palms, she recited the words of the spell.

_without the rain i have neither flow'r nor tree-  
without which i have neither honey nor bee_

Hermione closed her eyes, relaxed into his body, and lay her head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his clean skin, letting the warm water run down her skin. In her mind's eye, she stood in a field of wildflowers whose colours appeared all the brighter because of the dark grey sky overhead. A cool breeze blew her hair back from her face, and as she watched, the swirling clouds overhead gathered not in a familiar thunderhead, but into a perfectly round configuration. Hermione knew instinctively that this was not nature but the work of a god. She raised her arms to the sky in surrender, and there was a deafening crack as a shaft of lightning struck not ten feet away from her, filling the air with the smell of ozone and the receding rumble as the thunder raced away from her at the speed of sound.

As the afterimage faded from her retinas, the first drops of rain began to fall. But they felt like no raindrops she'd ever felt. These hit her skin and sizzled, releasing a tiny arc of sizzling light that stretched outward, as if seeking something. Her skin buzzed in anticipation, and more droplets fell, tingling and cracking in a way that was delicious but also a bit scary. It felt as if the magic and arousal in her had taken the form of electricity and was trying to escape through the rainwater that was beginning to soak her skin. Then, the heavens opened, and Hermione was standing in a downpour, then encircled in the flickering light. Where she was wet, energy crackled. Her body hair felt as if it were standing on end, and she realised that her nipples were as well. A much larger bolt of light issued from one of them, and the intense pleasure that accompanied the shock made her groan in pleasure.

Her eyes flew open, and she found herself standing alone under the shower. Severus was standing several feet away watching her with a look of wonder on his face. The realisation that she had put the awestruck look on his face made her feel powerful, and she grinned, holding out her hands to him. She was completely engulfed in a shimmering aurole, like a Tesla coil, and he hesitantly put his hand in hers. It was as if a circuit had been completed- the energy that had been looking for an outlet ceased fizzing and cracking and began humming as it flowed out of her and into him, dancing across his skin, making his skin vibrate.

Newly emboldened, Hermione drew him close and pressed her lips to his. They buzzed beneath hers, and the light flickered around them both. As an experiment, she pulled away, but the energy that filled her rose to a whine and would not be denied. Hermione gave a hysterical giggle and pulled him close once more.

"Severus?" she whispered in his ear. She was amused to see the light arc from her mouth to his earlobe, and he gave a soft moan in response. "If any of the others were to see us here, do you think they would be shocked?"

Severus leaned into her, pressing his arousal to hers and burying his face at the junction of her shoulder and neck. "Literally? It's possible. I suppose we could always tell them it was a miracle. Or St. Elmo's fire."

"What do you think it is?" she asked, smoothing his hair back from his forehead.

He pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. "I think it's time for the practical part of this experiment. There will be time for theorising later."

He took her hand and turned around, taking great care not to break their skin-to-skin contact, and pressed the length of his body against the front of hers. The hum of the energy running through her body intensified, and she couldn't stop her hands from running over Severus's flanks, and energy flowed out of her hands in infinitesimal vibrations. Almost of its own volition, Hermione's arousal had insinuated itself between Severus's cheeks, where it twitched. Severus jumped slightly.

"Too soon?"

"No," he said, his voice rich with amusement. "You produced a low-level shock."

Hermione laughed helplessly, holding him tightly. "I don't know how much of it is the magic and how much of it is simply the pleasure of holding you close and wanting nothing more than to make enthusiastic love to you, but if we don't do something soon, I suspect I'll be producing more than just low-level shocks."

He sighed, a soft, contented sound that was almost lost in the hiss of the water and the crackling energy that surrounded them. He reached his hand back and murmured a soft spell, which produced an abundance of warm, viscous liquid between his cheeks. Hermione's arousal jumped with interest, and Severus jumped again, but this time with a bone-deep growl that signalled better than the moisture that he was ready for her.

She was tempted to ask how to proceed, but between the primal need that made her body ache and the raw power within rise up and clamour to be used, she knew what to do. She placed a steadying hand on his hip and guided her erection between the cheeks that he was spreading wide for her. The opening looked so small that she had no idea if she would be able to fit, but it shone with moisture. She took a deep breath, rested the blunt end of her arousal on his opening, and doing her best to rein in the impulse to drive herself into him, slowly pushed forward. There was gentle resistance, and suddenly she was engulfed in exquisite tightness that took her breath away. For a moment, the energy in her stilled to a small tremor, and she took the opportunity to ease herself slowly into him. She was about to ask what had happened when the head of her cock brushed against something deep within Severus, and he gasped raggedly.

She thrust into him fully, and their voices joined together in guttural grunts as the energy danced across their skin, teasing and titillating, pouring out of her into him. Sparks flew from her skin and light arced across the space between their bodies. Severus's hair was standing on end as her energy poured into him through their share conduit, and he was practically mewling, pushing backwards against her to deepen her penetration, and rocking. Hermione felt as though she was riding the crest of an enormous wave that possessed the power to crush her, and yet the crackling power was hers, as well.

He was crooning her name, and the aural delight added a new dimension of infuriating need to their frenzied lovemaking. Hermione's central nervous system was being overloaded with the tingling pleasure of the energy and the physical ecstasy of fulfilling the primal need that filled her. She began to thrust helplessly into him, digging her fingers into his hips and crying his name. The light around her grew brighter and brighter until both she and Severus had to close their eyes against it. The blood was rushing in her ears, and she barely registered the sound of Severus letting out a shout. She let out a surprised gasp, realising that her climax was imminent and reached around to Severus's front only to feel the slick liquid of his own release flowing over the head of his cock and running down its shaft. The weird energy that surrounded them made the slick liquid on her fingers feel as if it were bubbling.

Severus groaned fiercely as his ejaculation continued, and the sound shot straight to Hermione's bollocks, which felt as if they were drawing up into themselves in preparation to explode. And then they did. There was a deafening crack that drowned out Hermione's shout as her climax hit her like a bolt of lightning, her body arching against Severus, as the crackling, fizzing pleasure coursed through her and out her cock. Her hand, which was still wrapped around him, was soon coated with another flood of ejaculate. Severus was whimpering, his arms braced against the ceramic tiled wall, shuddering and breathing hard.

For a minute or so, she held him; one armed wrapped around his waist and the other hand gently stroking the tip of his penis with her thumb. As Hermione gradually returned to herself, she pressed kisses against his shoulder and hummed her pleasure against his silky skin as the water flowed over them, washing away the last remnants of his climaxes. The crackling sounds and vibrations from the spell faded into a distant rumble, and Severus straightened, huffing quietly as he tightened his muscles around her, which made her squeak.

He chuckled and gently prised her fingers from his cock and raised them, pressing them to his lips.

"I'd call that experiment a success," he said drily, though he was smiling.


	3. Chapter Three

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

never, irana, have i met anybody more bothersome than you

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

As Severus had predicted, three thirty came far sooner than Hermione would have liked, and her response to the bell was sufficiently profane to rouse him. She groaned in what she hoped was a grateful way when he handed her a scrap of paper with the day's schedule written on it, spelled so that only she could read it. She stumbled blearily after him to Vigils and nearly nodded off during the call-and-response psalms, which seemed to go on forever. Afterwards, Severus took her on a tour of the monastery, about which she complained when they were out of earshot, because all the other monks got to use the time for personal reflection and study. She was already longing for the opportunity to reflect on and study the insides of her eyelids. All too soon they were back in the chapel for Lauds, which was somewhat less soporific because the sun was starting to come up. The singing was quite pretty, too, and taking communion at least gave her the opportunity to stand and move around, for all that the bread and wine reminded her that she had been awake for several hours without having food, or more importantly, tea.

Breakfast, mercifully, was next- hot porridge sweetened with honey and homemade preserves. Hermione was surprised by the convivial table atmosphere, and she didn't think it was entirely due to the fact that most of the brothers were drinking blond ale with their breakfast.

She expected more solemnity and silence, but there were smiles, murmured conversation, occasional laughter, and one monk even gave her a merry wink, which made her realise that she hadn't checked for love bites before following Severus to the chapel. She pulled her robe up around her neck, hoping she wouldn't have to explain away any visible marks, since her new masculinity meant that she couldn't use a hair straightening burn as an excuse. Fortunately, the wink seemed to have been an isolated incident, but Hermione was nonetheless grateful that breakfast was short.

The next stage of the day was _Lectio Divina_ , where all the monks gathered in the library to study. She followed Severus back to their cell, where he handed her a pile of books. At the bottom of the pile was volume three of the Sappho fragments, which had been spelled with a subtle Muggle-repelling charm. She added a Privacy Charm for good measure, which would make the text and her notes illegible to prying eyes, and Severus nodded his approval.

The library was a bright room illuminated by south-facing windows and filled with low, squat shelves, long tables, and numerous cubicle-like reading desks. Most of the private desks were already occupied, and Severus led her to the back of the library, where she caught her first look at the bindery. It wasn't as much a room as a corner table that had been taken over by half-finished binding and repair projects. There were old-fashioned but serviceable tools scattered around the presses, and several bolts of book cloth hung from the wall behind. There was a book on the finishing press with half the cord notches sawn in it, and the craftsman in Hermione was strongly tempted to finish the job, but that would have to wait until the working part of the day.

She sat down next to a monk with greying ginger hair and made a show of examining the other books before opening the Sappho volume. Severus and Mathieu hadn't translated the majority of the spells in the book, and Hermione set herself to the task. She recognised a few of the fragments, but the larger part was new to her, and she had produced nearly five pages of translation and notes by the time the Lectio Divina period was over. It was still far too soon, and she took her place at the back of the procession to the chapel for Tierce, which was mercifully short.

Brother Aloysius, whom Severus had mentioned had taken an actual vow of silence, greeted her sullenly when she returned to the library for the morning work session, and gestured at a pile of books that were adorned with sticky notes, listing the requested repairs. Hermione looked longingly at the finishing press, but reckoned that treading on Aloysius's toes at the outset would not be conducive to quiet, productive work that week. Besides, the backlog of projects didn't appear to be particularly complex, even without using magic.

The first piece was an old Bible whose cover had become detached from its spine on one side, which required only a bit of plastic adhesive and some wax paper to prevent the cover and its contents from being stuck together while being re-pressed. The others were fairly run-of-the-mill repairs, and there was a soft-bound edition of music needed to have a hard-cover made for it. Hermione, who had studied piano as a child, recalled how cumbersome music books could be and opted for spiral binding, which had the advantage of being quick and fast, as well as making the music lie flat on a music stand or desk.

As she worked, she was uncomfortably aware that Brother Aloysius stank. It was odd for the smells she most associated with work- leather, glue, cloth, and the dust of old books- to be unpleasant, but it seemed that Aloysius rarely showered. She wondered if, in addition to his vow of silence, Aloysius had taken a vow of stench as added insurance to make people avoid him. That would certainly explain his perpetual glower.

She finished the last of the repairs just as the bells tolled eleven, indicating that the work period was over. She looked over at Brother Aloysius and was both gratified and irritated to see that he had made virtually no progress on his own projects. Instead, he was looking at her with a mixture of suspicion and anger, which made Hermione feel very uncomfortable. She gave him a quick nod of her head and fled to the chapel for Sext, more chanting for her to ignore serenely with piously folded hands.

At lunch, Hermione allowed herself to sit next to Severus. There was more ale at this meal, and some very hearty onion soup with bread. The monks, except for Brother Aloysius, chattered so boisterously that Hermione felt brave enough to speak to Severus. However, it soon became clear that he had something on his mind.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He looked around the room. "Does anything strike you as strange?"

"Not really," she said. "It reminds me of the Ministry canteen, actually."

"That's what concerns me," he said. "Meals are usually taken if not in silence, at least quietly."

Someone had evidently said something quite funny to the abbot, because he let out a loud guffaw. Several brothers looked at him in something like surprise, but were soon drawn back to their own amusements.

"Is today the feast day of St. Vitus?" she asked, attempting levity.

"That's not how feast days are observed," he complained, clearly in no mood to be cheered up.

"Well, at least whatever it is doesn't seem to have affected everybody," she said.

"How so?"

"Well, Brother Aloysius still looks like he accidentally stuck his lips together with binding paste," she said, "and you're not exactly all smiles today, either."

"I am merely concerned over behaviour that could be construed by others as aberrant," he said stiffly.

"As long you don't consider their good humour to be abhorrent," she said. "You needn't take everything so seriously. Besides, I managed to translate five fragments during Lectio Divina this morning, and one of them sounds rather intriguing."

That made him almost smile. "You are insatiable, woman," he whispered.

Hermione yawned- the soup was sitting heavily in her stomach, and the blond ale, while nowhere near as strong or complex as the one she'd tasted at the cafe, was fragrant and delicious. "Only intellectually," she said, giving Severus a rueful look. "I don't think I'm physically capable of sustaining yesterday's pace of experimentation."

"Seventh year boys couldn't sustain yesterday's pace of experimentation," he declared, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I don't think it's necessary that we do. The majority of the spells are not designed to induce full, penetrative intercourse."

"Just the ones we've done so far?" asked Hermione playfully.

"Well, I wanted you to know what we were dealing with."

"As if I didn't know already from the first potion you sent," she said. "And I've been meaning to ask, do you have more?"

"No," he said, "but I can have some for you after Compline. May I ask why?"

There was an undercurrent of uncertainty in his voice that Hermione suspected had to do with her expressed dislike of the monastic schedule. The first half of the day had not sweetened her disposition towards it, but it wasn't so annoying that she felt the need to flee. "I was merely curious to try one of the female-specific spells I found today."

"Ah," he said, clearly relieved but determined not to show it. Hermione smiled to herself. She was no expert at plotting, but she had the feeling that Severus's resolve was something more likely to be dissolved by gentle persistence rather than broken by force.

Her reverie was broken by two monks at the head of the table, who had begun singing a folk song in French, and one by one the other monks joined until nearly the whole table was singing. Hermione could make out a few words, but she didn't know the song, so she merely smiled and nodded her head in time to the music. Severus looked on with a disapproving look on his face. The song continued through two versus until a loud bang from across the table surprised the singers into silence.

Aloysius was scowling at them all, red-faced with anger and knuckles white around the edges of the plate he had slammed on the wooden table. He stood, still glaring, and stalked out of the hall.

There was utter silence at the table for a moment until it was broken by what was obviously a poorly-suppressed snort of laughter. Severus, whose dislike of Aloysius was well-known, allowed a smirk to spread across his face, which made the abbot, who had been watching him, giggle. This in turn made brother Jose, who had brought Hermione's linens, chuckle, and before long the entire table was laughing.

Hermione couldn't help her own mirth at seeing the others taking the mickey out of the resident sourpuss and began to laugh along with them. But then a thought occurred to her and she fell silent.

Severus immediately leaned over to her. "What is it?"

"It's the showers," she whispered, though it was unnecessary amidst the gales of laughter around them. "What we did in the showers last night left something behind," she clarified.

"And given Aloysius's lack of basic hygiene, it's probable that he is the only person in the monastery who didn't come in close proximity to our testing grounds this morning," said Severus, looking thoughtful.

"This is fascinating," said Hermione giddily, almost forgetting to keep her voice low. "The spells continue to act on those who come into proximity of the casting area, even Muggles. It's like the opposite of a Dementor! I knew we were experimenting with a novel type of magic, but this goes beyond anything I could have imagined. Since I only have one book to re-bind this afternoon, I can use the rest of afternoon work period to translate. If I can get him to excuse me, there are a number of tests I'd like to run on one of the simpler spells." She paused for breath and realised that Severus was looking forward in stony silence.

"Severus?" she whispered.

"We can't stay here," he said.

Hermione blinked in surprise.

"We've disrupted their entire way of life," he continued, clearly agitated. "Aloysius is an ass of the first water, but most of the other men will be genuinely troubled by the incident when their magically-induced euphoria has worn off. Even if we explained, which we can't, they wouldn't understand that they weren't at fault."

Hermione was sorely tempted to agree and whisk them both off to Brussels for waffles, chocolate, and a private room with all the comforts of home, only with a larger bed. However, Severus had overlooked something germane in his haste.

"Severus, this never happened when you were experimenting on your own, correct?"

"Correct."

"And this didn't happen on the eve of Brother Mathieu's departure, correct?"

He nodded, and comprehension dawned on his face.

"Then the problem isn't so much experimenting within these walls as much as containing the magic within areas that only we have access to, like our cell."

Severus gave her a half-smile. "Are you actually arguing that we stay here?"

"Not on purpose," she said with a dramatic sigh. "Merely as a side effect of methodical science. I'm still very much of the mind that experimenting elsewhere would be far better, but for admittedly selfish reasons."

The gales of laughter around them had subsided, and most of the others were rising and making their way to the chapel for None.

"Hermione," murmured Severus, "has anyone ever told you that you are extraordinary?"

Her smile was winsome and slightly sad. "Just you," she said.

He gazed at her, and she could feel the strength of his gaze, as if he could see into her beyond his ability to use Legilimency. He leaned forward, and Hermione was all but sure he was going to kiss her, when he remembered himself and seamlessly turned his forward momentum into seizing a nearby serviette and wiping his mouth with it.

He rose and gestured with his head in the direction of the chapel. Hermione sighed and followed him, but she could not help but feel as if she had ceded the battle but possibly won the war.

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

whoever is alive is pleased by song

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

Hermione barely saw Severus until they had retired to their rooms after Compline. Aloysius had been in a mood during the whole of the afternoon work period, but he had ceded his unfinished work to Hermione, who took great care to work slowly so he could study her methods and left him to finish a book that had required complete re-binding. Aloysius wasn't a bad bookbinder, he was simply unrefined and needed a master to show him the simplest way to accomplish things. He even came close to returning the smile she gave him in response to his neat application of the headbands he'd made, which she's previously thought were machine-made until she saw him weaving one from silk floss.

By the end of the work period, they'd reached an almost friendly detente, and Hermione returned his humble bow with one of her own. As they reached the door to the shower, Hermione caught Aloysius's eye and opened the door. She could hear the water running and one of the monks humming _A Mighty Fortress is Our God_ , and she held the door open, gesturing for him to precede her into the lavatory. He looked as if he would refuse but walked in, glancing over his shoulder at her.

Side by side at the sinks, they washed their faces and hands. Aloysius still didn't smell of roses, but he had undoubtedly washed off the worst of the work smells, and Hermione hoped that some of the magic that had made the others so happy would rub off on him. She waved at him on her way out, and he returned her wave distractedly as he massaged his jaw with his fingertips, as if contemplating a shave.

She found her and Severus's cell empty and decided to take a quick shower, which wasn't nearly as traumatic as she expected, especially since the steam and spray limited visibility and she knew the hymn that the mystery hummer had started.

Two offices, one supper, and one deadly dull meeting later, she found herself alone with Severus. He presented her with two phials of familiar-looking green sludge.

"I would strongly advise using the toilet before ingesting the potion," Severus advised. "And do not forget the side effects."

"Ah yes," she said. "The incendiary hormonal response."

Severus returned to the book spread across his desk, and as she left the room for the loo, she noticed that he was working on a long spell in the second volume.

When she had voided her bladder and returned to the cell, she set the wards behind her and pulled off her robe, trying not to notice Severus watching her out of the corner of his eye. She toasted him with the phial and drank.

Even though she was prepared, the transformation was still extraordinarily arousing, as her breasts blossomed and her cock withdrew inside her, leaving her cleft throbbing and needy. Her breath hitched as her hands flew to her breasts of their own accord, massaging them, tweaking the broad nipples that she hadn't even realised she missed.

Severus was definitely watching her now, but without comment and with a sort of deliberate detachment.

Hermione found his attention flattering, but despite her keen arousal, she was definitely less comfortable with his gaze when she was in her own skin. Being naked as a male had felt like being in fancy dress, but now there was nothing to distract him from her less-than-svelte figure. She damped down her anxiety and pulled out her notes from Lectio Divina.

The spell called for complicated motions over almost every part of the body, especially the breasts and pudenda, and Hermione was quite keen to find out what the spell did, and even keener to find out if her own translation would work in spell form. She took a deep breath and recited.

_as dewdrops tickle the honeysuckle throats,  
are gods delighted and refreshed by our tears._

She closed her eyes and began to run her hands over her body as the spell had instructed, waiting for a scene in her mind's eye to give her some inkling what the spell did. Would she see herself in a thicket of honeysuckle making love with such intensity that it would bring tears to her eyes? Would a ticking sensation send her to the very brink of her sanity before merciful orgasm hit? However, these lines of inquiry had no effect on the backs of her eyelids, which stayed resolutely black. Hermione frowned, concentrating harder on the words of the poem, but all she could hear was the sound of Severus's pen on paper as he worked.

She felt a sinking feeling as she opened her eyes. There must be something wrong with her translation. She had thought the combination of "tickle" and "tears" was odd, but there were no other synonyms for the words, unless it was some sort of idiom she didn't know.

She looked over at Severus, who was apparently not as intent on his work as he wished her to believe. His face was half in shadow, but she could see his eyes glittering at her from beneath his brows.

She lay back one more time and closed her eyes, but no visions came, and no tickling sensation, apart from that which was already there. She let out a tut of frustration. She hoped she wasn't going to have to deal with her arousal the old-fashioned way. It would be such a waste of perfectly good sex magic.

"Problems?" inquired Severus mildly.

"Just one," she replied. "It's not working."

"Did you focus on the words?"

"Of course I did," she replied, slightly nettled. "Nothing."

"Interesting," he said, tapping an index finger against his chin. "Perhaps you were focused on the wrong words."

Hermione was about to call the idea silly, when she stopped. Perhaps she was a bit too fixated

She lay back on the bed once more and repeated the words in her mind, focusing on all the words together all possible meanings.

She heard a deep chuckle, which made her lose all concentration. She opened her eyes and glared at Severus.

"You're not helping."

He raised his head from his work.

"I don't know what you mean," he said mildly.

"You were laughing at me."

"No, I wasn't."

"Well, if it wasn't you, who was it?" she asked, crossing her arms across her chest. The moment her forearms came into contact with her breasts, two things happened. A warm feeling like a caress ran through them, and a loud honk rang out, like that of an irritated goose.

Severus jumped. "What in blazes?"

Hermione, who had jumped to her feet at the strange sound, stared at him, wide-eyed. "You don't think-" she began, experimentally cupping her breasts in her hands and giving them a gentle squeeze. One emitted the honk they had heard before, and the other gave a squeal like a squeaky toy.

This time Severus did laugh, although it was only a short chuckle and he sobered nearly immediately.

Hermione was mortified. "I must have translated it incorrectly," she said, red-faced.

He rose from his desk and took her notes, perusing them thoughtfully. "No, I don't believe you did," he said. "May I?" he raised his hand slowly, and she nodded her permission. He gently palmed one of her buttocks, and there was a loud thwacking bounce.

Her other buttock chirruped, her stomach rang like a gong, her hips wheezed, her knees clicked, her lips squawked like two pieces of wet rubber rubbing together, and, to Severus's great amusement, her nose quacked. As the inventory of noises grew, Hermione began to understand.

"The tears in the poem aren't tears of sorrow," she said at last.

"Got there, did you?" he asked, honking her left breast.

She stuck her finger between her legs, and the area made a sound like blowing a wet raspberry, which she felt was an excellent summation of her feelings about the spell.

"If I didn't do anything wrong, then exactly how is this sexy?" she asked. "I mean, it feels nice when the funny noises happen, but the sounds themselves certainly aren't at all alluring."

Severus thought about this for a moment and rubbed the side of her waist, which sounded like a saw cutting through a particularly hard log. "Have you never had an amusing sound occur in an intimate moment?" he asked.

She recalled the first time she had ever made love on her knees and her embarrassment at how much air had entered her in that position, or rather, its noisy release.

His lips quirked at her expression. "At the very least with this spell in place you needn't worry about making any embarrassing noises."

"But that can't be all," she said. "All of the other spells have involved something actually pleasant, not just something meant to avoid embarrassment."

He gave her an endearingly sweet smirk. "Silly woman, don't you think it's pleasant to laugh while making love?"

When he put it that way, it made a certain amount of sense. However, she wasn't quite convinced. "I don't like being laughed at," she said, crossing her arms once more, taking care not to put any pressure on her breasts. However, her arms boinged.

Severus gave her a hard look that no doubt would have led to irritation had he still been her teacher, but instead of getting testy, he took her hand in both of his and kissed it. He didn't even blink at the exaggerated smooching sound it made when his lips left her skin. "Very well," he said, "but in the spirit of academic inquiry, would you be amenable to laughing with me?"

Hermione searched his face for any sign of restrained irritation, but found none, only warmth and patience. Her discomfiture and embarrassment drained away. Severus was no longer the teacher who had mocked her teeth, he was the man who had taught her to satisfy herself with foreign equipment and allowed her to fuck him up the arse with it. Truly, she owed the monks a great deal for teaching Severus Snape, bane of all non-Slytherin students, the art of empathy and the value of kindness- at least, she flattered herself, to those who weren't complete dunderheads.

"All right," said Hermione, lying back on the bed. She couldn't suppress a snort of her own at the xylophone-like scale her vertebrae made as she reclined. "Let's make some music."

In retrospect, Hermione thought it was like having her own personal sound technician, as her kisses popped, her caresses rasped like sandpaper, and the occasional truly rude noise peppered their foreplay. The squeaks and squawks were soon forgotten in the haze of groans and whispers.

They both smiled at the cacophony of sounds when he lay down on top of her- she sounded like an upended child's toy box- but their hardest laugh of the night came in the exquisite moment when the blunt head of Severus's cock was positioned at her opening and began to ease inside her. As she adjusted to accommodate him and he slid more deeply into her, some intimate place crowed as triumphantly as a rooster at sunrise.

Severus looked down at her in disbelief, doing his best not to laugh at her, but the corners of his mouth quirked uncontrollably. The absurdity of the sound and his utter inability to conceal his mirth bubbled up inside Hermione, and she saved him by letting out a merry peal of laughter that bounced off the bare stone walls like sunbeams off a mirror. Suddenly, it was clear that her laughter was the missing element of the spell, because at that moment the comical squeaks evaporated, and in their place came a musical ping, like that of a plucked lyre string that shimmered in the air above them before dissipating into silence.

Her laugh this time was one of wonder, and it made both of their insides tremble. As he eased into her, the lyre began to dance, tripping merrily forward, and she arched her back, raising her hips to allow him to penetrate her more deeply. Her movement was accompanied by the mellow, hollow sound of a double-reed, and it began to play in counterpoint with the lyre, rising and falling in time with his gentle thrusts. Hermione lifted herself onto her elbows, which brought her chest into contact with his in a burst of reedy bass, and she pressed her lips to his, attempting to channel all of her wonder and appreciation for his tenderness though the gentle contact. A pipe began to sing over all the other sounds, and its pure tone made Hermione's heart ache from the beauty of the sentiments it expressed.

Severus clearly understood what she was trying to do, and he deepened the kiss and his thrusts, slowing his tempo, and the mellow woodwind followed, piping its mournful melody amidst the leaping arpeggios in the other voices. Hermione felt tears stinging her eyes and leaking out from beneath her closed lids. The promises hidden in the music gave their lovemaking a feeling of ceremony, like singing the refrain of the oldest hymns ever written.

Breathing in concert, they climbed towards ecstasy in patterned melismas, bodies rising and falling in perfect counterpoint, giving and taking, thrusting and gasping, through variations of their first movements, here augmented, there diminished, here inverted, there in retrograde. And then there were voices raised together in cries of joy as they climaxed in unison. Hermione clung to Severus, fists clenched and pressed against his shoulder blades, and he held her in the circle of his arms, shuddering his climax as her body quivered around him.

They lay panting together, bodies slick with perspiration as the motifs of the music they had created began to separate from one another, each going its own way until only the sweet ringing of the lyre remained. Hermione looked up at Severus and found herself unable to speak the words that were dancing around inside her. However, his searching, tender kiss made her realise that she didn't have to say any of them after all. They fell asleep, still entwined, to the final lingering notes.

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

with aphrodite audacity wilts

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

It wasn't long before the bell for rising that nature's call woke Hermione. She blearily pulled herself upright and slipped on her habit, taking care not to wake Severus, and slipped down the hallway toward the toilet.

The room was empty, the only sound the padding of her bare feet on the tile floor. It wasn't until she caught sight of herself in the mirror that she awoke fully. A jolt of adrenaline shot through her when she realised she had neglected to take the second phial of potion and was standing in the middle of the monastery's communal toilet as a female, and her wand was on the desk next to her bed. There was the sound of a faraway door opening, and she scrambled into one of the toilet stalls and bolted the door.

She stood perfectly still, listening, wishing her heart would beat a little more quietly. There were footsteps coming down the hall, and she held her breath as the door opened. Whoever it was walked over to the urinal and proceeded to have the lengthiest piss Hermione had ever heard, complete with groaning. The ringing porcelain reminded her of the reason she'd come in the first place, and she quietly hiked up her robe and sat on the toilet.

The sound of water running as the monk washed his hands was enough to start the flow. Fortunately, the monk didn't seem to find anything odd about one of his brothers using the stall and left, the door creaking shut behind him. When the last reverberations of the closing door had dissipated, Hermione finished and stood by the stall door, her hand poised over the bolt. She listened as hard as she could for footsteps, and hearing none she decided to make a break for it. She threw back the bolt, made a mad dash across the room and pressed her ear to the door, listening for telltale footsteps. All was silent, so she eased it open, looking both ways before stepping into the hallway and jogging as quietly as possible back to her cell.

She was less than five metres away from safety when a door opened suddenly and she ran into what felt like a brick wall, except that brick walls didn't have body odour. She looked up, into the scowling face of Brother Aloysius. The scowl was automatic, but to her horror, his expression faded into surprise as he noticed her short stature, her delicate features, and her long brown curls. He leapt away from her as if stung, reflexively crossing himself.

Hermione didn't see what he did next because she hitched up her robe, turned, and ran as fast as her legs would take her. She tore down the hallway towards the courtyard, and to her dismay, the pounding of feet behind her indicated that Aloysius had decided to pursue, and he was gaining on her. Hermione didn't know what to do. She didn't have her wand, so she could neither Apparate nor Stun and Obliviate him. Calling for Severus would rouse the other monks. The only solution she could see was to hide until Severus could find her. She ran across the courtyard and ducked into the alcove where Severus had caught her on the first day. In the predawn darkness, she was confident that Aloysius wouldn't see her, and she panted as quietly as she could from the unexpected exertion.

Sure enough, Aloysius ran past the alcove and only gave it the most cursory of glances when he realised that his quarry had eluded him. When his footsteps ceased crunching on the gravel, Hermione stuck her head from her hiding place. Lights were coming on all down the hallway, and she could hear knocking, which was presumably Aloysius waking everyone up to help search for the intruder.

There was no way for her to get back to Severus, she had no other clothes, and no wand. Fortunately, she recalled that the side gate through which she had first entered the monastery could be opened from the inside without a key. The gate squealed loudly when she opened it, and as she closed it behind her she could see a robed figured silhouetted in the doorway running after her. She ran toward along the monastery wall and concealed herself behind a pallet of beer crates near the receiving area. She doubted the monks would follow her outside, but she fought to remain silent anyway. She could hear faraway voices but couldn't make out what they were saying.

Interminable minutes passed, and the monastery fell back into silence, which was broken some time later by voices raised in chant. At the sound Hermione let out a sigh of relief. The brothers would all be occupied and she could sneak back into their cell and take the potion. She had no idea how she was going to explain things, but she would have the opportunity to talk to Severus during their morning reflection.

She crept from her hiding place and walked along the wall, searching for a place to climb over. However the side gate opened, and Severus appeared with all of her belongings, including her wand. To her surprise he seemed more amused than upset. However, that didn't lessen her acute embarrassment.

"Severus-" she began, not quite certain where to begin apologising. However, he held up his hand to forestall her.

"I haven't much time," he said. "I'm meeting the abbot after Vigils to explain this mess."

Hermione swallowed. "Have you any idea what you're going to tell him?"

"You'll approve," he said, smirking. "You are the twin sister of Brother Herman who was in love with Brother James before he became Brother James. You found out where Brother James was and broke in to confess your constant love before being rebuffed, of course."

"Of course," said Hermione, wrinkling her nose.

"Brother Herman, mortified by his sister's audacity, left the premises to find her and take her back to England."

"Very proper of him, I'm sure," she said. "When will it be safe for him to return?"

"That's entirely up to you," he said. "I only think it fair to tell you that the whole experience has given Brother James some doubts," he went on, eyes glittering.

"Doubts?"

"About his calling. He wonders if the monastery is his place anymore. Perhaps this incident was a sign that God is calling him to return to the world, perhaps to minister to the lovelorn."

Hermione stared at him for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. "Oh, Severus, do you mean it?"

He tutted at her in affectionate irritation. "What choice did you leave me, you infuriating, impertinent woman? Either I must give up the monastery or my work with you, and I find myself reluctant to sacrifice the latter when my business with the former seems to have run its course."

Hermione had no words, so she threw her arms around him and kissed him soundly.

He sighed in mock impatience, "I must go."

"Then you ought to stop kissing me," she said reasonably.

"Yes, I really ought to, shouldn't I?" he mused, pressing his lips to hers again. "If I may say so, as entertaining as it was to have you as Brother Herman, I confess that it's far more pleasant to kiss a face that lacks stubble."

"Confession is good for the soul," she agreed, nibbling his neck. "Now hie thee to the chapel. When Brother James has parted company with his brothers, have him Floo to the Alchemist's Guild in Grand Place in Brussels."

He kissed her soundly then turned to leave. He shot her a rueful smile over his shoulder. "I ought to have known it was folly to resist you," he said. "Lucius never would have sent you otherwise."

She was about to protest that Lucius hadn't sent her to him at all, but she paused and watched him go. As she Unshrunk her clothes and changed, she pondered Severus's parting words.

Could that preening peacock actually have pulled one over on her? She had come to Flanders on his hint, but her trip to the monastery had been at Jason's request. But now that she thought about it, Jason had never shown as keen an interest in Belgian beer before Lucius came calling. The timing was suspicious, certainly.

And then there was the question of Severus's surprising decision to leave the monastery with her. Could Severus and Lucius have been in league somehow? They were old friends, and very close friends, that much was certain. Severus also thought better of Lucius than she did, but that really wasn't saying much. Even if she assumed the worst of Severus, something she didn't particularly enjoy doing, she still couldn't work out why he and Lucius would conspire against her. She lived a quiet, unostentatious life with her books, and her fame these days was limited to antiquarian circles for her groundbreaking new translation of _Libri Sibyllini_. Neither man could possibly hold any grudge against her for the past. So what possible reason could Lucius have for bringing them together?

The more she thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed that Severus had been in on it. His surprise, discomfiture, and tears that first day had been genuine, of that she was certain. If anything Severus was a pawn in this, just as she was. The difference was that Severus had an inkling as to what game was being played, and she didn't.

She smiled, tying her hair back in a businesslike ponytail. Well, Severus was going to be on her chosen turf very soon. In addition to nearly a weeks' worth of reading, translating, and enthusiastic experimentation, she was looking forward to finding out just what Severus thought Lucius was up to.

She made a mental note to send Kingsley an owl when she arrived at the Alchemist's Guild. She wasn't confident that she could convince Severus to return to England with her, but if she did, she would much rather have an identity waiting for him at the Ministry than give him time to reconsider. She also made a note to speak to the head of the Guild for recommendations of nearby breweries and pubs to visit during their holiday. Not as a bribe, she told herself- merely added incentive for him to stay in the real world. And if all Belgian beer was as impressive as the beer she'd had at the monastery's cafe, taking periodic breaks in their work could prove nearly as pleasurable as the work itself.

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

wealth without moral splendour makes a dangerous neighbour; but join the two together: there is no higher fortune

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

The evening of Lucius's party could not have been more beautiful had he paid an enormous sum to guarantee fine weather, which he would have done if there were any reliable Weather Witches about. However, all of them had taken up more exciting work at resorts in the Caribbean, and it would have been a waste of money better spent on champagne and flowers. To celebrate the kindness of the elements, he was receiving his guests on the terrace, partially because Narcissa had always insisted on using the formal entrance, which he'd always found to be more than a bit unwelcoming, and partially because it was easier to keep an eye on which guests disappeared into the garden. The Minister's entourage had already arrived, and he could see Shacklebolt in deep conversation with an utterly forgettable fellow named Bunbury, a former undersecretary of something or other, and his hangers-on were emanating outward in a spreading circle of mediocre conversation. Fortunately, several members of the Holyhead Harpies had already drained a bottle of wine apiece, and they seemed determined to get the bureaucrats to dance.

However, it was approaching half past nine, and it was nearly time for the entertainment to begin, and he was still awaiting the arrival of a certain book expert. Her RSVP had been as unexpected as it had been terse, saying only that she would attend and that she would bring a guest. Lucius had masterminded enough plots to be fairly confident who that guest would be, and he had already prepared his remarks of genuine delight at the renewal of his acquaintance with the former Brother James, with only the slightest undertone of gloating. He was bursting with impatience.

To his extreme relief, Hermione arrived with precisely two minutes to spare before the entertainment was due to begin. However, on her arm was not his glowering friend, but the young Apollo who worked for her. Still, he didn't miss a beat in lifting Hermione's hand to his lips.

"Ms Granger, you look positively luminous," he said. "Your recent work agrees with you most splendidly."

"Thank you, Mister Malfoy," she responded, with an unreadable expression on her face. "You remember my assistant Jason, I'm sure?"

"Of course," said Lucius, giving the slightest incline of his head to Jason without offering his hand. Who did that upstart think he was, accompanying his employer to a private party? And what was she thinking? If nobody suspected her of sleeping with her assistant before, they most certainly would now. And where the devil was Severus? Surely not still mouldering away in that monastery- the thought was simply too horrid for words.

Jason was gawking at Lucius's admittedly impressive decorations and home. Lucius took the opportunity to slide between them and take their arms.

"Do come in," said Lucius in his warmest tones. "The entertainment is about to start, and I think you will both enjoy it particularly."

Jason looked ready to flee, but Lucius kept a firm hand on his elbow.

"Thank you," said Hermione in that damnable neutral voice.

While he led them into the ballroom where the other guests were lingering, some dancing awkwardly to the string quartet, some chatting, and all enjoying the copious food and drink, his mind was spinning, wondering where on earth he'd gone wrong. He'd sowed the disparate bits of information about Severus's hiding place so carefully. The devil take all Gryffindors and their utter inability to read between the lines!

He fumed silently and was about to abandon them next to the overflowing gifts table, when the upstart exclaimed, "Mr. Malfoy, I nearly forgot! I wanted to thank you for the ale recommendation. Please accept this as a token of my thanks."

He handed Lucius a cool glass bottle. Lucius nearly began to beat his forehead with it as he realised what had gone wrong with his plan. The boy must have gone to Flanders on his own to find the beer. He cursed himself for embarrassing the lad so badly that he had been afraid to ask his employer to fetch him some. However, the situation called for thanks, and he would remain cordial even if it killed him.

The bottle was sealed with foil and emblazoned with a pink label that announced the contents as Rosé de Gambrinus by a brewery called Cantillon- something of a specialist in spontaneously fermented ales, if he recalled correctly. Beneath the name was a charming picture of a Rubenesque nude being made love to by a clothed man behind her. Lucius had to smile in spite of himself. "Charming," he said, not entirely ironically. "Thank you, Jason. I will think of you and your lovely employer when I have the opportunity to enjoy this."

"I'll go and put it on the table, then, shall I?" asked Jason, not bothering to wait for an answer.

"That reminds me," Hermione said, reaching into her handbag. She handed Lucius a box exactly the size and shape of the one he received when he bought a new cravat. "Many happy returns, Mr. Malfoy."

"My dear lady," he said, slipping the package into his pocket, "you are as generous as you are lovely. But I beg you: please call me Lucius. Today, if no other day."

"If you insist," she said with a dry sigh. "Happy birthday, Lucius."

He drew her close and kissed her cheek. She smelled of ginger and jasmine. "Now, that wasn't so unpleasant, was it?"

"I've experienced worse," she said, and Lucius could have sworn he heard a smile in her voice, though her eye was as stern as ever. At least there was no longer outright hostility and disapproval.

He smiled and excused himself with his most charming smile, and walked up on the stage. Even he had to admit that he'd outdone himself with the stage. It appeared to be a cross between a sultan's tent and a circus in midnight blue and gold, which stood out against the reddish wood panelling of the room. There was a sumptuous blue velvet curtain directly behind the string quartet, who were were packing up their instruments, chairs, and music. He clapped his hands and five rows of tufted armchairs appeared before the stage, and his guests, now curious, began to seat themselves.

"Dear friends," began Lucius expansively. "Thank you all for joining me to celebrate this very special birthday." He was gratified that there were no outright titters at this statement. Either they recalled that this was actually his tenth fiftieth or they had been coached not to laugh, and as both possibilities implied that people had been talking about him, he was most satisfied.

"This year, in deference to the fact that I am no longer twenty, I thought it would be wise not to dance all night and to only drink for most of it." He paused for the obliging laughter. "We are all in for a treat tonight. Here on this stage we will see a new production of a play that many of us know and love, by France's finest playwright, Claude Malecrit, author of such comedies as 'The Alchemist's Daughter,' 'Fortune Favours the Fidelius,' and, ''Tis Pity She's a Harpy.' Tonight's performance will be his most enduring work, 'Alas, I've Transfigured My Feet,' but in a never-before performed translation by noted scholar Hermione Granger."

He gestured to the back where Hermione had seated herself next to what's-his-name from the Ministry, and she rose to acknowledge the polite applause, though Lucius could tell she was none too pleased to be singled out. He rather hoped she would give him a tongue-lashing later.

"Ms Granger's is the first English translation to maintain the rhyme and meter of the original French, and I'm certain you will all find it as charming and clever as the translator herself."

Lucius stifled a grin at her deep flush. He was in for it now! "Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I give you the Dragonet Theatre Company in 'Alas, I've Transfigured My Feet.'"

At this point in any other party, he would have preened from the number of important and famous persons applauding politely and looking cautiously interested in the spectacle he had prepared for them. However, he was having a difficult time pulling his eyes from the rosy woman with the sparkling eyes who was currently conversing with one of the retired under-ministers. He took his place in a raised chair in the centre of the back row, which sadly afforded him little view of Hermione around the high back of the chair she had chosen. He had watched the actors rehearsing earlier and was confident that the production was amusing, contained many pretty and talented actors, and just enough nudity to skirt the edge of good taste, but not to stray beyond it.

The blue curtain rose on a Rococo dwelling, sumptuously appointed, where Jean, the foppish lover, was giving orders to Crapaud, his foolish servant, to help him with his plan to woo the beautiful Blanche. The actor who played Jean was wearing a long blond wig tied back into a ponytail which made several members of the audience laugh before any lines were delivered.

Several heads turned his way to gauge his reaction, and he gestured toward the stage with magnanimous good humour. As the play continued, Lucius relaxed into his chair. Blanche confessed her love for Jean to her servant Suzette, who would appear dressed as no fewer than five other characters (three of them male) before the play was over. Blanche's mother, who was played by a corpulent old man in a dress, naturally insisted that Blanche marry above her station, and performed a rather rude bit of business with a parasol. Despite the occasional broad touch, the humour was every bit as sharp as it had been hundreds of years ago, and Hermione's translation gave it a contemporary bite that earlier versions lacked.

By the famous scene in which Crapaud, who had been tasked with kidnapping Blanche, appeared carrying a cow over his shoulder, the audience was roaring with laughter. However, when Crapaud went to visit Jean, who was in gaol for inadvertently ordering his neighbour's livestock to be stolen, Lucius emerged from his benevolent torpor. He was intimately familiar with the play as well as Hermione's translation, and he knew that when Jean asked Crapaud to deliver a letter to Blanche, Crapaud was supposed to reply with a simple affirmative before describing Suzette's virtues in the most salacious way imaginable. Instead, the following exchange occurred.

_Jean: But what should happen if the letter goes astray?  
Fair Blanche must wed the poxy viscount today!  
What can you do to guarantee it will arrive  
Before they wed? Sirrah, what ruse will you contrive?_

_Crapaud: My plan, dear master, is completely watertight.  
We'll keep the viscount from his stolen wedding night.  
Your letter I'll conceal within this cravat box,  
So if his men engage with me in idle talk  
I'll say that I am on my way to buy some cloth  
To sew a matching shirt for master, by my troth._

_Jean: But what if they should open it to look inside?_

_Crapaud: They'll find a silken necktie, colourfully dyed.  
But when I reach beloved Blanche's sitting room  
From which tradition bars the presence of the groom,  
I'll speak the magic words that will transform the tie  
Into this plea that she'd be heartless to deny._

_Jean: What words, Crapaud, will make this magic come about?_

_Crapaud: Aye, words that will not be found out by spy or scout:  
I'll rap three times upon the lid and whisper this:  
"Reveal your contents," and then give the box a kiss._

_Jean: I thank you, faithful servant, for the pains you take.  
I hope that of your love's ambrosia you'll partake._

At that, Crapaud launched into his famous speech on woman's three virtues, and the strange interlude was over. Lucius looked carefully from side to side to see if any of the audience had noticed anything odd. If anyone did, they gave no indication of it. Of course, the translation was entirely new to them, so he supposed it was understandable that no-one would notice the extra lines, especially considering that they fit perfectly with the meter and rhyme scheme.

He wanted more than anything to stand up to better see Hermione's reaction, but perhaps it would be wiser to wait until after he had found whatever she had hidden inside the box that was resting against his thigh. He was relieved that the interval was quickly approaching, and as soon as the curtain fell on the second act tableaux of the viscount catching Crapaud in an innocent but compromising-looking situation involving a wand and a bottle of Amortensia, Lucius excused himself and practically ran up the stairs to his private bathroom. Feeling slightly silly, he locked the door behind him, hastily cast several strong wards on the door, and placed the package on the vanity, considering it.

Clearly the package contained something that was intended for his eyes only. It took him a moment to figure out that she had planned her arrival to coincide with his introduction of the play, thus ensuring that he would conceal her gift on his person instead of adding it to the gift table on the far side of the room. As for the lines added to the actors' scripts, perhaps her publisher had informed her that a new theatre company was mounting a production, thus giving her the opportunity to tamper with the troupe's text. But what of her motive?

The entire plan was devious and subtle, and Lucius hoped whatever was in the box would explain the proceedings. He rapped on the lid of the box thrice, ordered it to reveal its secrets, and lowered his lips to the paperboard.

No sooner had he kissed it than there was a soft "poof" from inside the box, and he opened it eagerly to find a piece of smoking parchment. Whatever the message said, it wasn't going to be around for much longer.

He unfolded it quickly, taking care not to burn his fingers, and read these words:

_Cuthbert Bunbury is Severus Snape._

Lucius stared at the parchment as it turned dark brown, curled up, and was transformed into ash by unseen flames.

Good Gaia. He shook his head in amazement at the strength of the charm- the Fidelius, of course. The dull bureaucrat was really Severus. Severus Snape, his dear friend, was in his home, hidden in plain sight, ably aided and abetted by Hermione Granger. Now this was an interesting development. An indolent smile spread across his face. So his plan had worked, and quite beautifully. He ought to have suspected that Severus would see it as manipulation, and if there was one thing the Old Unpleasantness had done to Severus, it was to make him highly resistant to playing any predetermined role.

Lucius considered this as he Vanished the ashes and empty box and descended the stairs. The house elves were acquitting themselves admirably, floating trays of food and glasses of wine gently through the crowd. The guests were gay and full of laughter, so evidently the play was a success.

He spotted Severus, who now looked to Lucius like his usual taciturn self, conversing with Penistone, the head of Magical Law Enforcement, who was clearly in on the secret of his identity, as he seemed determined to dislocate Severus's shoulder by means of vigorous handshaking. Lucius concluded that Hermione had called in some favours to give Severus a new legal identity, which he considered to be terribly enterprising of her. The lady herself was failing to conceal giggles at Severus's predicament and was soon at his side. As she excused them both from Penistone, Severus slid a subtle but possessive hand onto her lower back, which spoke volumes to Lucius.

Lucius would have continued watching them, but a crowd of well-wishers blocked his line of sight, and besides, it was nearly time for the play to begin again.

The rest of the evening flew by in a blur of champagne, delicious tidbits of food and conversation. Lucius was in his element, charming any guest who would stand still. He loved being at the centre of it all; being the recipient of whispers and rumours from those currying his favour, although he knew he didn't have the attention of the two he wished most to be at his side. He would have to bide his time.

Once he had sent the new Prophet society reporter on her way, having ensured that she would write about the event in glowing terms by means of subtle magical suggestion and a hot snog amidst the jasmine bushes, he set off in search of Hermione and Severus. It was nearing three in the morning, and the remaining guests had gathered in the north parlour, which was one of the most comfortable rooms in the house, with overstuffed furniture and a well-stocked bar. However, his quarry was nowhere to be found. He joined the remaining guests for brandy, and when the bottle was empty, he escorted the stragglers, or at least those who weren't passed out in the garden, to the Floo.

He made his way to the ballroom, already cleaned by the house elves, and sighed deeply. It had been a wildly successful party, and he was well on his way towards establishing himself as something of a theatrical impresario, but there was something about seeing the old place filled with laughter and intrigue that made it seem all the emptier when he was alone. Ah, well. He still had an obscene number of pressies to open, and that was certainly something.

The table was overflowing with elegantly wrapped packages. However, his eye was drawn to a rough wooden crate that he vaguely remembered had been brought in by the ersatz Bunbury. He'd thought it crude at the time, but hadn't noted it, which was likely the doing of the powerful magic concealing Severus's true identity- the Fidelius Charm, perhaps?

He hoisted the crate over the glittering hoard and set it on a nearby chair to examine the contents. The crate was filled with 35 centilitre bottles, of the type that came from Severus's brewery, yet none of the bottles was labelled. There was a nondescript envelope that that fairly buzzed with magic, and Lucius suspected that anyone, apart from him, attempting to discover the contents of the envelope would be treated to a creatively thorough hexing.

The note was simple and to the point.

_We're at the shop with your real present. Bring the beer. You can thank me later._

Despite being more than a bit tired from his hosting duties, Lucius found that certain parts of his anatomy were quite alert. He barely checked his reflection in the hallway mirror before Apparating to Hermione's doorstep.


	4. Chapter Four

The ramshackle Victorian house looked even more dilapidated by night, but rosy light emanated from an upstairs window, and he could just make out the sound of voices.

At his knock, the hushed conversation ceased, and he heard the sound of feet padding down the creaky stairs. The door opened and Lucius found himself face to face with a statuesque beauty with short raven hair, knife-sharp cheekbones, and sporting under her silk robe the sort of bosom one saw most frequently adorning the fronts of sailing vessels.

He was about to excuse himself for disturbing her sleep when the strange woman gave a very familiar snort. "Took you long enough," she said, crossing her arms under her pert breasts.

There was something about the cadence of her speech that made him blink in surprise. "Severus?" he asked, grateful his voice didn't break.

"Of course it's me," she replied, gesturing for him to come inside. "You didn't expect us to sit around playing cards while waiting for you to cart off the last of your inebriated acquaintances, did you?"

Lucius followed her –him?- up the stairs. "I say, Severus, that's quite a new look for you."

Severus threw a smirk over his shoulder, one that would have looked obnoxious on a male face but was positively fetching on a female one. "It's not exactly new," he said. "But Hermione wanted to try a few things in the name of scientific inquiry, and she feared casting them on herself would interfere with her ability to be objective."

"That, and men have the disadvantage of requiring a refractory period between orgasms," pointed out Hermione, who appeared in the doorway in a silk peignoir that was clearly the under-layer of Severus's robe.

Lucius was well-bred enough not to stare at the abundance of breast barely concealed by the chestnut curls that tumbled over her shoulders, but only just. "Quite sensible," he murmured, removing his cloak and draping it over the chair near the vanity.

"Ah, good, you remembered the beer," said Severus, taking the crate and placing it on a low wooden dresser. "I know you prefer cognac, Lucius, but drinking the stuff with every meal has given me something of a taste for it."

As he set to opening the bottles and Hermione conjured glasses for them all, Lucius took the opportunity to examine the premises. Hermione's bedroom was both exactly what he expected and nothing like it at all. Predictably, there were bookshelves on all four walls, with a low window seat and a pile of pillows for burrowing into while reading. Her bed was a pleasant surprise. He expected something utilitarian, perhaps with a soft, worn coverlet. What he found was an enormous four-poster monstrosity large enough to accommodate an entire Quidditch team. The wood was dark with age, the duvet was covered with a silky fabric that shimmered in the light, and there were pillows of every shape that appeared to be chosen for some particular task rather than simple decoration.

There was a large armchair and ottoman in the corner, over which stood a gracefully curved floor lamp in a more modern style than Lucius would have chosen, yet it gave the room of mismatched furniture a kind of eclectic charm.

"What is this, Severus?" asked Hermione, who was swirling the glass he had given her under her nose.

"Just an experiment," he replied, raising his own glass and holding it up to the light. "Pieter was kind enough to let me try a few variations on the standard recipes, for academic purposes, of course."

Lucius accepted his glass and seated himself in the armchair, which afforded him a pleasing view of Hermione and Severus, who were both strikingly attractive, though nearly complete opposites. The tipple was reminiscent of the blond ale Severus had sent him upon first arriving at Westvleteren, though the golden sweetness was cut by an astringent character, like citrus and pine, which gave the mouthful a clean, crisp finish.

"I say, Severus, this is rather good."

"Thank you," he replied, seating himself next to the vanity. "It still amazes me the difference that an infusion of exotic hops makes."

"It's marvellous," agreed Hermione. "And now that Bunbury has retired from the Ministry, he's taken a job brewing part-time for the local brewery. I'm going to be terribly spoiled," she said, smiling sweetly at Severus.

"I didn't know Bunbury had it in him," said Lucius, raising his glass to Severus. "Now, as delicious as Severus's experiment is, I came here in the middle of the night because I was promised a real present. I should hate to think that I was lured here under false pretences."

Hermione and Severus looked at one another, Severus with a smirk, Hermione with a rueful smile. "Well," said Hermione at last, "this is part of it."

"My dear Hermione," said Lucius, "I wouldn't know what to do with both of you at once."

Hermione gave him a sharp look. He would have to tone down the fop act if he wished to get any additional mileage out of it.

"Three weeks ago, you asked me to verify the authenticity of your volume of Sappho," she said in a voice that brooked no nonsense. I am sorry to tell you that Severus kept the original that he found at an archaeological dig in Egypt and gave you a magical Duplicate."

"Disappointing, but not entirely unexpected," sighed Lucius.

"Given the disappointment you are undoubtedly feeling," said Severus with heavy sarcasm, "we've decided that it's only fair to add to your collection."

Lucius hoped his eyes didn't gleam with avarice. He hadn't expected to be given the original. "That's a very generous gift."

Severus took another sip of his beer. "You don't know the half of it."

"Or two thirds," chimed in Hermione, grinning.

Lucius knew he was missing something but was determined not to let Hermione and Severus know it. "If this is your way of telling me that your research will be even more dear than I was led to expect, it's only fair to tell you that this evening's soiree has put me in an exceedingly generous mood."

Severus tutted. "There's no use talking to him when he's like this," he complained. "He'll either wheedle his way into getting what he wants or imply that he's not been given his due."

"He's right, though; we did promise him a real present," said Hermione. "May I give it to him?"

"I suppose," grumbled Severus.

Hermione reached up to the nearest shelf and withdrew two plainly-bound volumes. Lucius, who had been expecting a new translation of Sappho's poems, preferably in a colour that went with his hair, stamped with gold, and adorned with bejewelled peacocks, was slightly disappointed, at least until he opened the front cover. He stared at the table of contents for a moment in silence, then took a deep pull from his glass.

"Is this what I think it is?"

"It's another Duplicate," said Hermione, dimpling prettily.

Lucius raised his glass to Severus in a sardonic toast. "You must have a Welsh Green somewhere in your family tree, judging from how successfully you concealed this golden hoard from the world."

"I did you a kindness," said Severus. "To have the full array of spells available but no-one with whom to use them is an exquisite kind of torture."

"And that's why you chose to cloister it and yourself with celibate men?" asked Lucius.

"I was attempting to mortify the flesh," said Severus. "Something that does a person with much to atone for a world of good."

"I do find the very idea mortifying," agreed Lucius. "I'm indebted to you, Hermione, for helping Severus see the error of his ways."

"You give me too much credit," she said, stretching her arms over her head. "I simply helped him find a new set of errors."

"To err is human," quoted Lucius, "but to live divine."

"I'll drink to that," said Hermione, raising her glass.

Severus scowled. "We're drinking to misquotation?"

"We're drinking to that which is far better than what's traditional," said Lucius.

Severus harrumphed. "I suppose that's a sentiment to which I can raise a glass."

"I do hope you'll raise more than just the glass," said Hermione, "though I suppose you'll need to raise a phial first."

"Let the man finish his beer," exclaimed Lucius. "For Merlin's sake, woman, we have all the time in the world."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "You should try being in suspense for so long and see how relaxed it makes you."

Lucius looked at Severus hungrily. "My dear girl, what makes you think I haven't?"

Severus's snort took some of the wind out of Lucius's sails, and he tapped the open pages of Lucius's new volumes. "Now that you've exercised your penchant for melodrama, do you see anything here that arouses your interest?"

Lucius refrained from making the obvious joke in favour of examining his present. He ought to have known that Sappho was good for far more than pretty poems about flowers and incredibly hot wanking spells, but the book was still a revelation.

He flipped to the recipe for the potion that had transformed Severus. While he was intrigued by the change it had wrought in his friend, he was not in the least interested in trying it himself, and not only because the flavour of clematis would ruin his palate. Acquaintances had always remarked how similar he and Narcissa appeared, and the last person he wished to remind himself of when naked was his former wife. And while Severus made a beautiful woman, Lucius had just hosted an extremely lavish and strenuous party, and despite the fact that he had the energy of a man half his age, his energy was still finite. On any other day he might consider exhausting himself in pursuit of both women's pleasure, but today was his birthday, or rather, yesterday was his birthday, and the mountain of gifts had put him in a receiving sort of mood.

He briefly considered leaving Severus as a female and asking Hermione to take the lead as a man, but he quickly dismissed this out of hand. Her features and build were far better suited to the female frame, and he had been dreaming of her lush body since he first laid eyes on her in that diaphanous dress. Besides, he'd always found something coltishly handsome about Severus, with his long limbs and knobby knees and elbows, and seeing them together as themselves had aesthetic appeal, and he told them as much. Hermione was unsurprised, but the sweet almost-smile Severus gave him made Lucius want to kiss him soundly, for all that it would have involved moving from the extremely comfortable chair. Besides, Hermione seemed to have things well in hand.

Now that the easy decisions had been made- gender reversal would wait for another day- all he had to do was narrow it down to one or two spells from the appropriate chapter. Hermione drained the last drops from her glass and crossed to where Lucius sat, perching on one of the chair's arms to look over his shoulder.

"That one looks interesting, don't you think?" asked Hermione, tapping her finger next to a spell that seemed to have something to do with flower petals.

"If it's blossoms you desire, I'm certain I can provide something satisfactory."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think it's literally about petals," she said. "In another spell, Sappho referred to the tip of the penis as a shirt in Phoenician red. We've got better at working out what the spells will do, but we still get surprises."

"Am I to understand that you haven't performed this particular spell?"

"We haven't tested any of the _ménage e trois_ spells for obvious reasons," said Severus. "If you'd prefer stick to one- and two-person spells that we've tested, I'm certainly we can find a satisfactory combination."

"Think nothing of it, old friend," said Lucius with a wave of his hand. "I've only just begun to decide."

"Well, don't be all night about it," said Severus. "Hermione, would you be so good as to assist me with the transformation?"

"It would be my pleasure," she declared, slipping from the arm of Lucius's chair and lying down on the bed, her head propped up on her hand.

Lucius, who felt instinctively that this was a performance meant to be watched as much as the play he had produced, pretended to continue perusing the book, but watched the proceedings through his eyelashes.

Severus opened the drawer of Hermione's nightstand and pulled out a vial of thick green potion. He loosened the belt of his robe so that the front fell open, revealing pearly skin and ebony curls at the vee of his legs. He slid his hands beneath the silk and pushed the robe aside to expose his breasts, whose brownish-pink nipples were erect. He sighed, cupping them. "There is some truth to the old supposition that if men were women, they'd do nothing but play with their breasts all day."

Hermione stretched out on her stomach, which made a beautiful line between her shoulders, waist, and arse. "Tiresias?"

"Something like that," said Severus, raising the bottle to his quirking lips. He downed it in a single gulp, then let the robe slide to the floor. Lucius was grateful to have had an eyeful of his best friend nude in female form, but it was only a moment until the slender, graceful figure began to change.

Severus's eyes fell shut and he clasped his hands to his breasts, which were broadening and flattening into a thin chest with slightly more muscle definition than Lucius recalled him possessing. Perhaps that monastery had been good for something, after all.

His eyes were soon drawn to the area between Severus's legs, where the bush of curls was undergoing a remarkable change. The hips themselves were thinning as a proud erection rose from the shadowed cleft, and two bollocks descended behind them. It had been many years since Lucius had seen Severus in such a state of arousal, but his moans were the same, and Lucius fully expected Severus to take himself in hand, but he stopped his hands, which had begun to move toward his cock seemingly of their own accord.

Severus opened his eyes, and Lucius could now easily see the resemblance between Severus's male face and his female one, though his expression held a look of such raw hunger that Lucius temporarily forgot about the book in his lap, especially because Severus's needy gaze was directed at the luscious woman draped over the bed.

Lucius made a self-conscious show of turning the page, and his eye fell upon the following words:

_my lover and my lover and i are vines  
trellised upon poles; blooming, bearing fruit._

Something about the arrangement of those particular words attracted Lucius so much that he nearly missed the sight of Hermione sliding her peignoir over her head and Severus pouncing on her and burying his erect cock between her legs. Hermione cried out, though the surprise in her voice was quickly replaced by the moans of a woman who is being ravished and enjoying every second of it. He had never seen Severus this uncontrolled before, and though knew that part of the wildness was due to the magical transformation, he also felt instinctively that Hermione's presence had everything to do with Severus allowing himself to let go.

Their voices joined in unison groans, and Hermione was soon writhing and mewling under him, her feet and hands searching for purchase in the silky duvet and finding none. Severus came with a shout and he collapsed over her, and they both lay there, entangled in the robe that hung loosely from Severus's arms.

Lucius felt his face get hot, and his erection was straining against the brocade of his trousers. The whole process had taken about three minutes. Severus was the first to recover, and he raised his torso with his arms and looked down at the woman beneath him with a quizzical expression on his face.

"You were in suspense, weren't you?"

"As much as I adore your skilful tongue, there really is no substitute for your male attributes," she said, smiling in a way that would have been demure but for her just-shagged dishabille. She looked over at Lucius, and her smile broadened. "Thank you," she said, allowing her gaze to travel from his gold-threaded Turkish slippers, up his stocking-clad ankles, which he knew to be exceptionally well-turned, to his bulging groin, as she smiled in a terribly immodest way.

Severus, who was still lodged in Hermione to the hilt, was also looking his way with interest. "Am I to conclude that you've found a spell you wish to try?"

"I would hate to rush you," said Lucius, feigning indifference.

"Not at all," said Hermione. "What you just witnessed was simply magical discharge. I can feel Severus hardening as we speak."

"Incorrigible woman," grumbled Severus, who appeared pleased regardless.

"I'm relieved to hear it," said Lucius, removing his outer robe and unbuttoning his waistcoat. He brought the open book over to the bed, as Severus rolled off Hermione and Vanished the pearly trickle he left behind. "What do you think of this one?" he asked, toeing off his shoes and lying across the profusion of pillows at the head of the bed.

Lucius nearly laughed at the practiced way Hermione and Severus moved together to lie shoulder to shoulder over the volume. Clearly, their past two weeks together had not only been spent making love in every imaginable configuration.

"Do you think-?" began Hermione.

"It's possible," said Severus, "though it's equally possible that-"

"Oh, no," said Hermione, shaking her head vigorously. "That'd be too similar to the two-person spell we tried, and none of them have been redundant with-"

"Is it literally-?"

"We'll just have to find out, now, won't we?" said Hermione.

Severus gave the kind of sigh he had always used when he didn't want one to know he was anxious or excited about something. "I suppose."

"Good man," said Lucius, clapping his hand on Severus's shoulder. "I admire the sacrifices you make in the name of scientific inquiry."

"It's true," Hermione demurred. "Sometimes he sacrifices several times a day."

Lucius raised his eyebrows at Hermione. "I shall look forward to reading both volumes cover to cover. Now, both of you have done this before. This charming little diagram seems to show- goodness, now isn't that something? I seem to be overdressed."

"Allow me to help," said Hermione, reaching for his necktie and unknotting it with skilful fingers. Lucius took it as a sign of his arousal that his skin tingled where her fingertips touched his neck. She reached for his trousers button when Severus seized her hand.

"Don't help him too much," he said. "We do want him to last long enough to find out what the spell does."

"You give me too little credit," Lucius protested. "It appears that all I need to do is sample a bit of that lovely potion Severus drank."

"All in good time," said Severus. "But I really must ask that you stick to only one bit of magic at a time, otherwise we risk adulterating the results."

"As much as I disapprove of adultery," said Lucius, "the results would need to be duplicated numerous times before one could say exactly what the spell does, wouldn't they?"

"Only if we were planning to publish our results in anything peer-reviewed," said Hermione, smiling wryly. "Besides, what if you don't like what the spell does?"

"Has that happened?"

"Oh yes," said Hermione, wrinkling her nose. "One was a smell spell, and fragrances had to be much stronger back then because everybody had body odour. I had a raging headache until it wore off."

"I see," said Lucius smirking. "Then I had better get on with it, hadn't I?"

"If you would," said Hermione, resting on a pillow. Her breasts jiggled in a most pleasing way, and Lucius couldn't help himself. He slid across the bed next to her and buried his face between her breasts, cupping them gently with his hands so that the soft flesh pressed against his cheeks. He breathed in the warm sweetness of her skin.

Hermione gasped, taken by surprise, but she didn't object.

"Forgive me," he said, raising his eyes to hers, and pressing reverential lips to her left breast.

Her brown eyes were sparkling. "I may yet," she said, ghosting her fingertips along his jaw line.

"Really, Lucius," said Severus, sliding up behind her and placing his arm around her waist. "Do you think we would have invited you to participate in these experiments if both of us hadn't agreed on your suitability?"

Lucius raised himself to his knees and unfastened his cuffs, placing the cufflinks carefully on the bedside table. "And here I had credited your change of heart to the excellent wine I served."

"I should hate for you to labour under a delusion," said Hermione, who was methodically unbuttoning Lucius's shirt, "so I must confess that it was neither the wine nor the production of my play, which, while appreciated, would not entice me to dally with someone who was anathema to me. No, Lucius, what convinced me was your behaviour toward Severus."

"Was this the way he plotted to force me out of the place that had been my home for nearly a decade or the way he badgered us both into doing what he wanted?" asked Severus, kissing Hermione's neck in such a way as to elicit a delightful array of gasps.

She playfully smacked his hand, which had migrated upwards to her breast. "It was the way he gave you the space you needed to process what happened to you- what happened to us all, really. What's more, he recognised that something important was missing from your life by being shut away from the world, and in a way, I think he recognised that in me, as well."

"It didn't hurt that the whole thing suited his own libidinous purposes as well," commented Severus, whose voice was suddenly much raspier now that she was wiggling that luscious arse against his arousal. "Exactly how long have you been planning for this evening, Lucius?"

"I try to be prepared for all eventualities," purred Lucius, "though I must confess that this exceeds my wildest hopes."

This time it was Severus who clambered over Hermione and kissed Lucius soundly on the lips. Lucius sighed in contentment and lay down on his back, which allowed Severus to slide his torso atop Lucius's. Severus had several inches of height on Lucius, which always made Lucius feel pleasantly dainty when he was being kissed. This time, at the end of years of separation, was no different. Lucius particularly appreciated how clumsy Severus's hands were unbuttoning his trousers and yanking off his trousers and pants and tossing them aside.

When Lucius finally allowed him to break the kiss, Severus looked down at him with a confused expression that made Lucius want to cosset him and gather him close, for all that he knew Severus wouldn't stand for it, at least not without a large amount of softening up.

"You perverse, silly man," said Lucius, brushing his fingertips tenderly over the top of Severus's ear to stroke his short hair. "Is it such a strange idea that I should miss you?"

"Yes," said Severus. "However it's a condition that seems to be catching." He gazed at Hermione, who had take advantage of their inattention to move to Lucius's side opposite Severus.

"This is all very sweet," said Hermione, whose eyes were fixed on the erection that jutted from Lucius's nest of dark golden curls, "but we have work to do."

"You make it sound like manual labour," complained Severus.

"It is, in a way," said Lucius. "We're about to be labouring, and there's the manual," he said, gesturing toward the book that lay open on the nightstand.

Severus huffed and raised himself to a sitting position. "All right then, Lucius. Get on with it."

Hermione held the book in her lap for Lucius to read, and it took all of his willpower to look at the pages instead of her breasts.

The poem was accompanied by a picture of a naked man bent in half, his hands clutching his ankles. He read the words of the poem aloud, and then stretched his arms toward where his feet sat, grateful that his daily Hippogriff rides kept him reasonably flexible. His ankles felt considerably further away than they had been when he was twenty, but they were just within his grasp if he bent his knees slightly. He wrapped his fingers around them, then let his mind go blank, except for the words, just as he had done for the spells in the other volume.

_my lover and my lover and i are vines  
trellised upon poles; blooming, bearing fruit._

Lucius had half expected to find himself in a sunny vineyard, but instead he was in a heavy wood, dappled with sunshine. There was a goblet of red wine sitting on a rock, and, sensing that it was the correct thing to do, Lucius took it and raised it to his lips.

His tongue arched against the tannins, but the sweetness soon took over, flowing over his tongue like honey, mellifluous and warm. Lucius flexed his tongue, sending the wine swirling around his mouth, and inhaled through his nose. The bouquet was exquisite, filled with notes of honeysuckle and wisteria. Reluctantly, he swallowed the mouthful and took another sip.

As the wine passed his lips, he nearly jumped as he felt what was distinctly a caress on his ankle. He looked down and saw a dark green shoot that he could have sworn wasn't there before brushing his leg. He swallowed his second mouthful of wine, and to his amazement the shoot grew before his eyes, and the stalk split in half, and one tendril wrapped smoothly around his calf.

Lucius was slightly alarmed until broad, three-lobed leaves began to spring from the plant, which meant that it was neither Devil's Snare nor Venomous Tentacula. When the strange vine had wrapped around his thigh and begun to stretch its tendrils toward his genitals he held his breath, but the stalk didn't tighten, and its leaves were soft and slightly fuzzy against his skin. He belatedly realised that the wine goblet was still in his hand, and he drained the last of its contents with a single gulp so that he could have two hands free with which to extricate himself from the plant.

However, his action seemed to have the opposite effect, since before he could set the goblet back on the rock, the plant had grown at lightning speed to wrap its vines around his whole body, but with surprising tenderness. Lucius felt utterly helpless- he couldn't move without disturbing the plant, which he decidedly did not wish to do, and he had to admit, the plant's soft leaves felt wonderful against his skin. He swore that a dozen tiny tendrils were wrapping themselves around his most tender parts. He moaned at the strange, but not at all unpleasant sensation.

He opened his eyes to find Hermione and Severus watching with obvious trepidation as her four-poster bed began to sprout vines.

"You were right," said Hermione. "It was literal."

Severus sighed impatiently. "There's nothing for it. We shall have to play along."

"I'd hardly think you would resist, old friend," said Lucius, spreading his legs to allow the talented green shoots access to his nether regions. "I've seen too much evidence to the contrary."

Severus's face darkened suddenly, but Hermione grinned wickedly. "Interesting," she said, smirking at him.

"You never believed a word he said before," protested Severus. "Why start now?"

"Obviously because it confirms my suspicions about the nature of your prior relationship." She smiled at her paramour's scowl. "However, I am more than happy to suspend judgement of the veracity of Lucius's assertion until I have more evidence."

"Terribly good of you, Hermione," said Lucius, whose scrotum was being expertly fondled by the vine. He stretched his arms over his head, and two vines that had been waiting obligingly wrapped around his wrists, tickling the underside of his forearms with leaves.

"I must say, it's quite a pleasant surprise to see you like this, Lucius," commented Hermione.

"Were you expecting to be overpowered?" asked Lucius, revelling in the tender caresses at his ankles.

"I thought it was a possibility," said Hermione, who caught Severus's eye and blushed charmingly.

Lucius wriggled. "Perhaps another time. As for the present, would one of you be so good as to pinch my nipples? I somehow doubt opposable leaves would have the same effect."

Severus smirked at Hermione and proceeded to tweak Lucius roughly, but Hermione bent over the nipple on her side and began to nibble it gently with her teeth. The sudden jolt from his left and the warm tease from his right made Lucius hiss with pleasure.

His eyes, which had fallen shut, flew open when Hermione let out a shriek. She was jerking her arm in a most alarming way, attempting to dislodge the vine that had wrapped itself around her forearm.

Lucius reached to calm her, but his arm was stuck fast. He relaxed into the plant's grip, and the vine loosened, allowing him to seize her arm and gently stop her shaking.

"Hush, my dear," he whispered. "Don't fight it. There is power in surrender."

"The other entity's power," she retorted. Still, she stopped thrashing, and true to Lucius's expectations, the vine relaxed and let her go. Her jaw dropped, and she began to massage her forearm. "So is that how it works? Let the plant have its way with us?"

"I don't think so," said Severus, whose calm voice belied the fact that he was bound head to foot in vines.

"Well, what's it all about, then?" asked Hermione, who was clearly only just stopping herself from fleeing the bed.

"Patience," crooned Lucius. "And while you're at it, would you please do something to my poor neglected cock? The tendrils have gone away."

Hermione looked torn between amusement and discomfort. Thankfully amusement won out. "You seem to be enjoying yourself."

"He'd enjoy himself far more if you'd cease worrying about the vines and pay attention to him," commented Severus, whose hands were now free and stroking Lucius's hair.

"Your tone implies censure, but there is nothing for me to be ashamed of," said Lucius, arching into Severus's caresses.

Hermione finally smiled, and several leaves burst forth from the vine. Her body jerked as they tickled the gentle swell of her belly, but she relaxed into the vines, and they wound their way up her body, shiny green against pink. Just when Lucius thought she couldn't look any more beautiful, the vine burst into bloom with clusters of tiny white flowers.

Lucius's erect cock twitched at the sight of tiny tendrils wrapping around the tips of Hermione's nipples, and even she seemed taken aback by the plant's sudden change.

"What do you suppose-" she began before breaking off with a gasp. Lucius's free hand was suddenly between her legs, caressing the soft flesh of her thigh.

Apparently Severus was every bit as delighted by the sight as Lucius was, and Severus's hand was soon next to his, caressing Hermione's leg. Fortunately, Severus was also thoughtful enough to slid his hand beneath the small of Lucius's back and knead the muscles there. It was only fair for Lucius to slide his other hand amidst the vines that were wrapped around Severus to where his erection jumped enthusiastically against its restraints.

Severus moaned as Lucius's fingers encircled his shaft and several vines withdrew to allow Lucius's hand better access. In response, Severus's hips jerked forward and the tip of his penis brushed Lucius's hip, and he groaned loudly.

At the sound, Hermione raised her head slightly, and she wriggled closer to Lucius. He shivered at the wave of heat that emanated from her skin. He breathed in the sweet fragrance of her, which was twined with the indefinably masculine smell of Severus and something green and vegetal, the smell of green things growing with the warm musk of earth. The combination of scents sent him into a heady sort of ecstasy, and when he returned to himself, he realised that he was cradled between Hermione and Severus, her soft breasts and his insistent arousal pressed against him in the most delightful way, and their hands conducting a symphony of cupping, caressing, tweaking, and massaging. The leaves and vines soon joined in, and Lucius was becoming so aroused that he couldn't tell the magical enticements from the tender ministrations of his dearest friend and the woman he desired.

Lucius moaned and arched his body, and the majority of tendrils withdrew, leaving only a few thick vines, nearly as large as branches, securing his ankles, hips, and shoulders. Two more wrapped around his wrists, and he obligingly lifted his hands over his head. With the gentlest of motions, combined with Severus's gentle nudges, Lucius was turned on his side, facing Hermione. She smiled sweetly at him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

Sweet Merlin, he was drowning in the feel of her, the taste of her, her fragrance. The weeks of need howled for him to claim her, but he ignored them, settling instead for teasing her lips open and exploring her mouth and lips. As he drew closer to her, he felt Severus's hot breath on the junction of his neck and shoulder and shivered. The moist air was soon replaced by hot mouth, and Lucius adjusted himself to accommodate Severus's fingers, which were insinuating themselves between his hip and the bedclothes.

Except they weren't Severus's fingers, as all ten of them were accounted for squeezing his bollocks and massaging his hip. He pulled Hermione tightly against him, his cock settling comfortably between his belly and hers, and Severus closed the distance between his hips and Lucius's arse, sliding his arm across Lucius's body to caress Hermione's waist.

The ersatz fingers, meanwhile, were pulsing and pushing beneath Lucius's body, until finally he felt himself being lifted gently. He forced himself to look away from Hermione and gasped with amazement at what he saw.

While they had been enjoying one another, the vines had twisted themselves into a dense wall around them, nearly two yards high and thick with woody stems. The young, green shoots were welling up beneath them like a roiling sea, lifting them gently on hundreds of curious tendrils. Lucius felt himself being pushed by the green shoots and guided by the larger vines, and before he knew it his ankles were pulled upward until his legs were pointing straight up in the air.

Lucius couldn't suppress a whimper at the loss of skin contact, but Hermione was soon lying atop him, her sweet breasts pressed against his chest and her hands caressing his face as she continued to kiss him as if he weren't being manhandled by a large plant. And really, when Severus moved around to cup his arse and massage the tired muscles in his legs, he came to the conclusion that the plant knew precisely what it was doing.

No sooner had Lucius closed his eyes and relaxed than something smooth unexpectedly brushed against his nose. His body jerked in surprise, but the vines held him firmly, and he opened his eyes to see what it was. When he recognised what hung before him, he let out a delighted laugh.

The smooth object was a grape. The amorous plant with bondage aspirations was a grape vine, and it had borne large, deep purple fruit. At the sound of his laugh he felt Hermione and Severus stiffen, attempting to determine the source of his amusement. Lucius lifted his head slightly, plucked a grape from the vine with his lips, and savoured the resilient skin for a moment before pressing into it with his teeth.

However, instead of crushing the juicy flesh of a grape, the skin popped like a sturgeon egg and filled his mouth with a delicious flavour that made the wine from his vision seem as plain as water. It tasted of fruit and flowers, of sweetness and salt in perfect balance. But underneath the fragrance there was something sensual and musky. It tasted of nostalgia and the memory of past amorous encounters. A thousand nights of passion flashed in his mind's eye, as if every moment of erotic bliss he had ever experienced had been distilled into a perfect liqueur.

He finally swallowed, reluctant to deprive his tongue and lips of the singular experience, and was delighted to find his tired body filling with energy. His erection bobbed enthusiastically, and he couldn't resist a wicked smile at Hermione, who was looking down at him with curiosity.

He lifted his lips to the cluster of grapes once more and pulled off another fruit, this time raising his face towards Hermione's. She looked as if she wanted to protest but accepted the grape. She rolled it around in her mouth for a moment before biting into it. Lucius heard the crunching pop of the skin giving way and watched as Hermione's expressive face went through an extraordinary number of changes as she experienced the flavour. There was another crunching pop from somewhere behind his raised legs. Apparently Severus had found a bunch of the glorious fruits as well. Lucius took the opportunity to devour another, since, he told himself, he needed the extra energy more than they did.

He had barely swallowed the mouthful of ambrosia before Lucius found himself being devoured. Hermione was lipping and sucking the side of his neck while Severus nipped his way down his thigh. He fancied he could feel their arousal deep in his stomach. He allowed the vine to pull his legs gently apart to give Severus access to his erection. Severus was taking his goddamned time kissing his way up Lucius's thigh, so Lucius turned his attention to Hermione, who was clearly getting the hang of the spell, since the grapevine had freed her hands long enough to pick a new fruit.

Instead of putting it into her mouth, she held it aloft and pressed with her fingertips. The grape burst, dribbling juice all over his stomach and pooling in his navel. The scent was nearly as intoxicating as the taste, and he hummed his approval as she began to lick it off him. Her mouth was hot, and the blade of her tongue made the most delicious swirling motions within the enclosure of her lips.

Another soft pop from below and a trickle of liquid between his buttocks indicated that Severus had found a bunch of grapes as well, and the flow of warm juice was soon accompanied by powerful but gentle fingers parting him.

Lucius felt himself being positioned, but he couldn't tell if it was Severus, Hermione, or the grapevine. Another dribble of juice down his fundament was followed by a tentatively probing finger, while Hermione's mouth on his chest playfully tweaked both nipples before proceeding inexorably southward.

Lucius gradually became aware that he was not as dispassionate an observer as he fancied himself, as he was emitting some of the most debauched-sounding moans that he had ever heard himself make. It was a conspiracy- it had to be. A premeditated scenario in which Severus and Hermione had tricked him into making love with them, only to work in concert to make his head explode.

As further evidence of this, Hermione's slid her lips around the head of his penis just as Severus's finger slid past his sphincter. Lucius let out a whine, and the vines dangled another bunch of grapes before him. However, Hermione's hand was there before his, and she had taken another fruit in her mouth before Lucius's shaking hand reached the grapes. She held the fruit in her teeth, and he could see the spherical object deform as she bit down, but not hard enough to break the skin. Her eyes sparkled as she lowered her face to his and placed it gently in his mouth. Her lips were maddeningly soft, and her playful tongue slid along his bottom lip before she seized another grape and returned to her capable ministrations below.

If Lucius thought the sensation of the ambrosia in his mouth was pleasant, it was nothing compared to the feel of it inside Hermione's mouth on his penis. What's more, her co-conspirator slipped a second finger inside him, and Lucius's body arched as the ecstatic sensations duelled for dominance. He was vaguely aware that he was howling and pulling against the vines at his wrists and ankles, but this only made him pulse with stronger arousal. He managed to raise his head enough to get a glance of Severus behind Hermione, and met the man's dark eyes.

"As appreciative as I am of your efforts on my behalf," rasped Lucuis, hardly recognising the thick, rough voice as his own, "I fear I may not be able to devote my full attention to them for much longer, as certain matters have become quite pressing."

There was dark amusement in Severus's face, and Hermione stared at him in disbelief before throwing back her head and laughing. "Appreciative as I am of your communication on the issue," she said, "acceding to your request would be rather against the spirit of the spell, don't you think?"

Lucius blinked in amazement. He wasn't used to being disobeyed, especially in bed.

"I'm afraid she's right, Lucius," said Severus, who was working a third juice-moistened finger into his opening. "You're just going to have to control yourself as best you can until we see fit to bring this tawdry scene to a close."

Lucius felt a flare of anger, which was met by an answering surge of adrenalin and arousal. He unconsciously pulled at the vines at his arms, which tightened around his wrists.

Hermione gave him a smirk that reminded him so much of Severus that he nearly smiled. "Remember, Lucius, there is power in surrender," she said cheekily, cupping her breasts and lowering them to his face.

As Lucius leaned his head back and took her nipple in his mouth, he realised that she might have a point. When she scooted herself up to give his mouth access to her sweet, hot cunt, upon which she was now dribbling fruit nectar, he briefly considered organising a religion based on surrender. However, when he had licked her clean and Severus decided to suck one of Lucius's bollocks into his mouth, Lucius became incapable of coherent thought beyond obeying Hermione's directive to control himself.

Mercifully, she and Severus soon took pity on his poor penis, which was fairly aching to be buried in something hot and wet. Hermione, whose voice was hoarse from moaning her appreciation for Lucius's oral skills, bent down to whisper some unspeakably filthy things in his ear, and as she did so, she began to slide her hot slickness down towards his erection, which gave a powerful jerk.

Not to be outdone, Severus burst several grapes in rapid succession, and Lucius was suddenly aware of the distinctive sound of liquid being massaged into flesh. He would have pondered this further had Hermione not positioned herself over his straining cock and slid, inch by agonising inch, onto him.

Lucius gave a shuddering gasp and yanked on the vines at his wrists for all he was worth, hoping that the discomfort would keep him from coming immediately, which it did. Hermione was almost completely still atop him, though he fancied he could feel her heart pounding through the pulse inside her. She appeared to be struggling for control as well. The nearly unbearable urge subsided, thankfully, and she correctly interpreted the change in his breathing and began to knead his hips between her thighs, which created the tiniest, most delicate thrusting sensation.

The vines tugged gently at his ankles, and he relaxed the muscles in his hips in response. This had apparently been the response the spell had been waiting for, because suddenly there were vines at Hermione's wrists, pulling her arms straight up in the air. She gasped, and her muscles contracted involuntarily, giving Lucius the most delicious sensation of being squeezed. The vines pulled her slightly forward so that only the head of his penis was still inside her and she was no longer resting on his hips. Her magnificent tits hung before him like ripe pieces of fruit, begging to be nibbled and sucked on. And really, he hated to see any part of a lady left wanting.

However, the vines were not yet finished. The tugging at Lucius's ankles became more insistent, and soon his hips were drawn upward, pulled by the vines and pushed upwards by the coiling tendrils. Hermione moaned as his penis slid up inside her once more, and she flexed her lower back so that she not only achieved the maximum amount of contact with him but also extended her erect nipples forward.

Lucius was about to take one in his mouth when Severus put his hand on Lucius's newly exposed arse. Lucius, suddenly aware that this had been the plan all along, had to dig his fingernails into the palms of his hands to stave off ejaculation. He whimpered as Severus massaged the muscles of his buttocks and dribbled the juice of one last grape on himself. Hermione, for all that the vines prevented her from seeing behind her, seemed to instinctively know what was happening and shifted her weight from Lucius's hips to her own creamy thighs.

Lucius felt the pressure of Severus's shoulders on his calves, and could just see a sliver of shiny black behind the aureole of Hermione's curls just as he felt the blunt thickness of Severus's cock nudge against his fundament, slick with moisture. Hermione, thank Gaia, understood the moment well enough to remain still while Severus nudged his opening, gently at first but with growing insistence. Lucius relaxed into Severus, and with a delicious, excruciating stretch, Severus slid into him.

Severus groaned loudly, and something strange began to happen. It started in Lucius's stomach as a warm flutter, so subtle that it took him a moment to notice it, especially given the number of other competing pleasant sensations. But then it wasn't coming just from his stomach; it soon spread to his chest, his lips, and it was surrounding his penis inside Hermione and Severus's penis inside him. It was even at his ankles and wrists, where the vines had slackened slightly, allowing him to lower his arms to Hermione's hips. Her eyes had widened in surprise, and Lucius met her gaze with a reassuring smile, and he raised his hand to caress her cheek.

She gave him a thoughtful look, then reached out for a grape. The vines still held her arms up, and when she crushed the fruit between her fingers, Lucius realised what the delicious feeling was. What had previously been translucent juice had turned to liquid gold. Lucius watched the drops fall, as if in slow motion, to spatter on his stomach, where they pooled like quicksilver for a moment before being absorbed. Where the droplets had fallen Lucius's skin fairly glowed with heat, and he was filled with energy. Lucius was not what one would call a spiritual man, but he was not above praying in a time of need. And with the infusion of magical energy came need so powerful that his torso flexed, raising his shoulders from the bed of tendrils, his teeth clenched from the effort of delaying his climax.

Severus, who had been watching them through the small space between Hermione's raised arm and her head, began to stroke Lucius's buttocks approvingly, and Lucius squeezed Severus between his buttocks in thanks. Severus nosed aside Hermione's wild curls to kiss her neck.

"I think Lucius has shown remarkable restraint, don't you?"

Hermione turned her head to accommodate his mouth on her neck. "I defer to your far greater experience as to what obedience from Lucius looks like," she said, giving Lucius's penis a squeeze.

"It's in his face," said Severus, kneading Lucius's cheeks as he nibbled the side of Hermione's neck. Lucius could feel her tighten around him in response to Severus's ministrations. "The moment he has an expression that doesn't look as if he's practised it in the mirror, you know he's losing control. If he goes back to looking perfect again, then he's making an effort to control himself."

"I'm surprised you can tell any of that from your current position," commented Lucius, who was enjoying the soft, pliant texture of Hermione's breasts as long as the vines at his wrists would allow. If her moans and whimpering were any indication, she was enjoying it as well.

Severus gave him a look that was pure mischief. "That was merely advice for Hermione," he said, his voice brushing the deepest, roughest notes of his speaking register. "I know your restraint from the way your body clenches desperately around my cock, from the way that your hamstrings quiver with pent-up energy, and from the way I can hear my name in the helpless hisses and moans you utter when I thrust into you." He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "But I must confess that I had pity on you, Lucius. I left the deepest part of you untouched, knowing how demanding our mistress is and how disappointed you would be if forced to come against your will."

This made Hermione snort. "Well, if the two of you are determined to cheat on this test, then I'm afraid we shall have to repeat it some other time."

Lucius nearly climaxed at the prospect of being invited into their bed once more, but he bit his lip and just managed to hold on.

"I know how disappointing this must be for you, my dear," said Severus, sucking gently on her earlobe. "I do hope you'll let us make it up to you."

Hermione's smile made Lucius's heart swell. "Very well," she said. "But I get to pick the spell next time."

"Agreed," said Lucius, his voice grating and desperate.

Hermione stroked his jaw with her fingertips. "Good," she said. "Now, Severus and I are going to pound into you and ride you, respectively, until you ejaculate so hard your eyes cross. I trust this course of action will be amenable to you?"

Lucius let out an inarticulate sound of delight, and Severus smacked Hermione's arse playfully. "Cruel taskmaster."

She tossed an insolent look over her shoulder and began to gyrate her pelvis, lifting herself up and nearly dislodging Lucius, and then crashing back down on him, pressing him into her slick heat. Severus obliged by nearly withdrawing and sliding back inside in moderate thrusts which felt like heaven when he matched Hermione's rhythm. The golden heat of the berry juice acted like a catalyst, and a delicious fizzing energy shot through Lucius, as the slack vines pulled at his wrists and ankles once more, pulling him taut.

Lucius took this as permission to struggle, which he did with vigour and delight. He was keening his pleasure in time with their thrusts- Severus's push to Hermione's pull and vice versa. He felt as if he were a great bellows being inflated by eager blacksmiths, his body filling with glowing, ecstatic energy with every cycle of his lovers' action, until at last, he was filled to capacity.

There was a moment in which everything seemed to stop, and he clenched the vines in his hands in preparation for what was to come. The vines had fruited, and his iron grip burst a dozen different fruits, causing the warm, glorious juice to run down his arms just as a well-aimed thrust from Severus pushed into the tiny gland that was fairly aching to be touched.

Lucius let out a howl, and his buttocks clenched around Severus as his hips thrust upwards into Hermione, spewing forth in numerous spasms what felt like an obscene amount of ejaculate. As he filled her with his hot seed, he could feel her pulsing around him in powerful orgasm, feeding his hot liquid climax with her own paroxysms of ecstasy. Her stuttering gasps were soon punctuated by rhythmic groans from Severus, who seized Lucius's hips and drove himself in as deeply as he could. Lucius felt Severus swell within him, as his fingers tightened. He gasped for breath and let out a growl as he spilled himself into Lucius.

Lucius was being borne away on wave after wave of climax, both his and those of his lovers. He fancied that he now understood what the fruits they had devoured had felt like as they had burst. When the last of his climax had been wrung out of his exhausted body by the smirking satyr below him and the writing siren above him , the last thought he had before the blackness in his peripheral vision expanded was to wonder whether the aftermath of their climaxes would be the attractive gold colour of the berry juice. It would look lovely against his skin.

__

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

fox knows eleventythree tricks and still gets caught; hedgehog knows one but it always works

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

Some eleven months later, affluent members of wizarding society were somewhat dismayed when they heard through the grapevine that Lucius would not be throwing himself another fiftieth birthday party. The uncharitable said it was because Lucius was simply too old now, though anybody who had seen him during the past year knew that was not the case. Lucius had never looked better, not even when he and Narcissa were first married.

Those who knew him better socially argued that he was riding out the scandal caused by the extremely racy book of sex magic he was reputed to have published under the transparent pseudonym of "Lucian Malfait". It had already become a bestseller, though of course nobody admitted to having read it. Upon its initial release, it had been immediately banned by the Ministry until a surprise vote of the Wizengamot had reversed the decree, though it was only to be sold to wizards and witches who had reached their majority. That is, the Wizengamot's vote was a surprise to anybody who wasn't aware that each of its members had been owled a copy by an anonymous person. The publisher assured the public that the author was hard at work on a sequel.

Around the same time, Granger's Rare Books Ltd. published Aristotle's long-lost treatise on comedy, to the shock and admiration of the antiquarian world. Lucius Malfoy said his presence at the book release was simply to get to know the competition, though one classics scholar was horrified with how shamelessly Malfoy flirted with the lady of the hour, even though she was clearly on the arm of some forgettable nonentity. The beer, however, was truly excellent, with a hint of some sort of dried fruit, and left everyone in an extraordinarily good mood.

On the continent, the Abbey of St. Sixtus in Westvleteren received a crate of state-of-the-art bookbinding equipment, in addition to a small library of books on the subject of book craft. As there was no return address or any sign of how the crate got there, most of the monks chalked it up to a gift from the Almighty and thought no more of it.

The real miracle occurred when the crate was delivered to the library, and Brother Aloysius smiled for the first time anyone could remember.

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

the end

)([][][][][][][][][][][][])(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epigrams at the start of each chapter come from both Sappho and her contemporary Archilochos. Sappho's spells were assembled in more or less Sapphic stanzas of eleven syllables from the most fragmented of Sappho's fragments that consist of only a few words out of context. The Malecrit play is based on the bits from Fantastic Beasts, of course, as well as several extant farces cobbled together. Hermione's "added" lines are written in twelve-syllable Alexandrine couplets, after Moliere. The name "Bunbury" comes from Oscar Wilde. The comment about playing with one's breasts all day is from the film "L.A. Story."
> 
> Enormous thanks to Mr. 42, my beloved beta-reader, lifeasanamazon, my incredible Brit-picker and gamma-reader, and to the exchange mods and admins whose hard work and patience make the SSHG exchange the biggest and best out there.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the sshg_exchange on Livejournal for shiv5468, who prompted me thus: Hermione, Severus, The Big Book of Sex Magic. Be as silly as you want, or as sexy as you want. Lucius is, as always welcome.


End file.
